


Out Of Our Own Little Corner

by Marinia



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Deceit/Dorian sucks btw, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, as we suffer through the Angst, based on the AMAZING au of teacupfulofstarsine, give her all the credit, mage!Virgil, pattonella!au, poor Patton, this makes it sound really dark but it isn't i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marinia/pseuds/Marinia
Summary: [Cinderella au] After the death of their parents, Dorian took control of the Sanders Manor, claiming it was to let his younger step-brother, Patton Sanders, the biological child of the late Lord, grieve. But Patton is quickly reduced to a mere servant, and not even Virgil, Dorian's younger brother and a powerful mage, can help him, at least not until the two younger Princes of the Kingdom begin searching for their significant others- possibly the only chance they’ll get to escape Dorian's tirrany.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the AU of the AMAZING teacupfulofstarshine on tumblr, and i advise you all to check out her great Pattonella!au if you haven't already, even though I hope that i managed o put my own spin on her wonderful story!
> 
> Kudos, comments and constructive criticism are loved and appreciated!
> 
> Also, kudos to you if you get the reference in the title

“Smile, darling,” his mother reminds him, and Dorian does as he is told. Thanks to years of training not even his little brother can distinguish it from the real smile he lets slip on occasion, often upon receiving a compliment from their mother. “Now, Lord Sanders is going to be my new spouse, and you know what that means, don’t you?” her gaze is cold as she awaits the answer.

“We’ll be on our best behaviour, ma’am,” they answered in tandem. The smile of the future Lady Sanders was almost warm, if her eyes didn’t sparkle with so much cunning.

“And how are you to treat the little heir?”

“I’ll make friends with him, mother,” Dorian smiles, “while Virgil gets acquainted with him, to make sure he won’t find out.” Virgil nods in agreement, but his mother still catches her son’s disappointment. This wouldn’t do.

“And do you remember why that is, Virgil?” she asks softly.

“Because a mage stays in the shadows, and helps his Family.” The mantra comes naturally over his lips, having been said to him as long as he can remember and probably before then too. It was true, after all. Mages were often distrusted and seen as dangers. They had no grand chances of climbing the social ladder, ergo, it was best for them to stay back and support their family, like good children. And all that none withstanding, Virgil knew that Dorian was the better son.

He could already charm everyone at the parties their mother made them attend, while he himself was often getting tangled in the web of courtesy, gossip and manners. It was easy for Dorian to memorize the ancestry he needed, as well as all current gossip. He could easily talk about everything with everyone, even if he didn’t know anything about the topic.

“Very good, Virgil,” his mother praises and the boy grins at her.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

For a second his mother’s eyes softened. She had raised such a good boy. But she knew that he was too like his father to succeed.

“I think we’ll be arriving shortly,” Dorian interrupted, nervousness managing to creep into his voice.

Any trace of softness disappeared out of the face of the future Lady Sanders. She straightened her back, her sons doing the same without having to be told. She reminded them of her instructions with a glance, before they spent the last few minutes to the Sanders Manor in silence.

~

The late Lady Sanders had always loved the roses that naturally grew around the Sanders Manor, she had tended to them, making her hands rough and unlike those of her sisters. Under her care, the roses had risen up to the shingles of the roof, their bloom’s smell sweet and never overbearing. She had one of her servants teach her how to make perfume out of the blooms, letting the scent of her beloved flowers follow her, even when she attended some despised outing with Lord Sanders.

After the birth of her first and sadly only child, she had been even more absent from the pretences of court, and while her husband was saddened by her absence while he made ends meet, he could never become angry, as the roses seemed to have grown even higher whenever he returned. 

Their son was kept at home, too young to do more than learn the rules of court, too young to know why his mother never mentioned her sisters.

Still, the late Lady Sanders had taught him more about her roses and her morals than about the delicacy of the manners that were expected of nobility.

So it came as no surprise that Patton didn’t really know what to do when his new brothers arrived.

His father had told him how to act, what to say, but he couldn’t help think that this was all terribly stiff and boring. He’d rather tend to the roses that had begun withering away since his mother’s hand had ceased caring for them. He’d even love to teach his new brothers all he knew, but his father thought it wasn’t a good topic for conversation.

The carriage set to a stop before them, imposing and dark, making Patton feel smaller than the eight-year-old had ever experienced. His father let a servant help his-Patton still had difficulty even thinking it- new mother out of the carriage, before embracing her and exchanging some words with her that Patton didn’t care to follow. After her came two boys, both wearing ridiculously formal clothing that looked terribly uncomfortable to Patton.

The taller one went straight up to Patton, a big smile which Patton automatically returned on his lips. He thought the older one was eleven years old, and the younger one six, but he wouldn't bet on it. He didn’t notice how Dorian sized him up, how he noticed his insecure stance, the way he played with his cuff links and how he had failed to welcome the brothers to the estate.

“Hi, my name’s Dorian,” he grinned, and Virgil glared at his brother at the blatant informality. But Patton lit up, rolling on his feet in excitement.

“Hey, I’m Patton, but you probably already knew that! I’m so excited to meet you- or to get to know you, I guess.” A nervous chuckle escaped him, but Patton seemed uncaring towards his mistake otherwise. “I hope you didn’t have to travel too long, I know I always hate having to sit in a carriage for hours, it’s so boring!”

“Tell me about it!” Dorian dared to complain, rolling his eyes to make his gamble even riskier. “I swear that the whole affair was only a way to punish me for something, but I can’t even imagine what would be bad enough to justify something like that!” Virgil, who knew that Dorian didn’t mind carriage rides and even enjoyed them at times, kept his mouth shut. From the way the conversation flowed, Dorian obviously excelled at the task mother had given him. Which was to be expected, really.

~

The friendship between Patton and Dorian easily grew, the older boy guiding Patton with ease through the maze of underhanded but polite scheming when they attended balls or banquets or any other social function. Lady Sanders rarely missed an opportunity to get out of the Manor or hold a party there, and if she didn’t mingle with nobility, she exchanged letters with both formal and actual friends, as well as her many well-informed but poor acquaintances. It never hurt to have connections, she’d tell her son.  

The Sanders became a much more respected title thanks to her, and Lord Sanders loved her for her cunning, as well as the loneliness she had taken from his son. It was due to this love that he let some things slide that he usually would have confronted.

How Virgil was never able to meet anyone’s eyes. How he kept to the library that had expanded with mysterious books he couldn’t read. How Dorian always spoke for both of them. How the older brother seemed so chipper and charming but never truly earnest.

But he never confronted these things, and kept himself ignorant of anything else that might’ve been going on.

(He knew that Lady Sanders took Dorian to her office once a week, always on Thursday after Lunch, to stay in there until the sun had set and it was time for dinner. He knew that Dorian had his mother’s cunning but not her restraint)

He chose to ignore all these things, because his son was happy, and who was he to interfere with a mother raising her child? Especially since he knew that his Lady hadn’t been born into nobility and had to prepare her son to deal with any prejudices that might come his way. Just like he knew that part of the reason she married him was his status. But he didn’t hold it against her, seeing as part of the reason he proposed to her was her having two children around Patton’s age.

And Patton was blooming. With Dorian’s help he could charm anyone he wanted, and his good nature managed to keep him in good graces with the parents of his acquaintances. He had even taught Dorian how to care for the roses that had begun to recover. And even though Dorian didn’t enjoy the flowers like Patton did, he helped his younger brother to see him happy (or that’s what he thought, at least).

~

Patton was twelve when their parents had to go. It was a business trip at first, but the kingdom had always had an issue with thieves. Dorian had been left in charge for only the trip at first, like three years gave him more expertise than the proper heir (only that Patton was supposed to take the reins, if only Lord Sanders hadn’t looked away. If only he hadn’t let Lady Sanders look after the children. If only Dorian hadn’t been the one to get the will of the late Lord).

Patton was devastated when the news arrived, of course.

Lady Sanders had always been kind to him, had always cared for him.

His father had been the only link to his mother. He had understood, and he had loved Patton, had told him fairy tales when nightmares plagued him, had taught him all his mother never could, even though the thorns tore his fingers and made him bleed. He had- He had been his Dad, he had tried to assume the role of his mother, he had loved him in a way his new family didn’t seem to.

But maybe he was wrong. 

Because Dorian understood, he knew what he was going through, and he let him grieve. He took care of the funerals, of the business, of the social responsibilities. Virgil began to follow Dorian around more and more (sometimes Patton thought he could see the ten-year-old’s eyes glow purple but he didn't think about that). Sometimes Virgil stared at him as if he wanted to scream at him, even though Patton didn’t know why. He let himself mourn, and Dorian smiled at him, with a sad tinge in his eyes. Patton curled up in his big brother’s arms and he believed that maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t’ve tied the deep love of family to Blood.

He believed that, when Dorian smiled and offered him a room that didn’t hold as many memories, even if it was a bit smaller.

He believed that, when Dorian smiled and told him to take on a few more chores to take his mind off his feelings, even able to ignore that he had let go all members of staff (to save money, he had said). 

He believed that, when Dorian smiled and discouraged him from going to a ball to meet his friends, because he wasn’t ready yet.

His belief began to waver when his clothes grew dirty and Dorian found more and more excuses not to clean them.

His belief began to crumble when the dirt settled into his pores and he was awake before sunrise to fall asleep after the sun had set, still never done with all the work he had to do. 

He began to doubt when Dorian stopped smiling and thanking him, instead giving criticism and orders.

But Dorian was still his brother, he thought, he believed. He had to believe. (What else did he have left?)

His belief was shattered when he asked to attend a ball, a year after his parents’ deaths, a ball his mother had attended every year, an event to raise money and awareness for some cause or another, and Dorian told him that servants shouldn’t mingle with nobility.

He had protested, of course he had. But… Dorian was right, he quickly realized. He did all the housework, his clothes were old and tattered and he didn’t know when he had last bathed. He tried to swallow his tears when Dorian taunted him, tried to keep his sobs down when Dorian came too close and bared his teeth while hissing insults, he tried to breathe through it when Dorian commanded him to  _ remember his place. _

He had fallen to the ground – _ where he belonged _ \- and didn’t even look up when he heard Dorian leave. He was confused he didn’t hear Virgil leave as well, but the boy had always had been so silent, maybe he just couldn’t hear him over his muffled cries as he hugged himself, yearning for his big brother to hold him in his arms again.

~

Virgil shuffled closer, feeling his anxiety rocket. Dorian wouldn’t like this. His brother had reminded him, so often it made his head hurt, a mage serves his family, but stays in the shadows. Dorian was his family. And Dorian did what was best for their family, he knew (had to believe, because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he was outside the library and outside Dorian’s shadow long enough to think about what he’d let happen).

But-But Patton didn’t deserve this! His fingers shook when he took out a handkerchief and knelt next to Patton. He knew he couldn’t do anything to help the other, but…

“Here. I’m sorry, I wish I could help you,” he whispered, his voice shook. Patton only nodded, taking the handkerchief silently. Virgil wanted to hug him, wanted to care for him, but-

“Virgil! We have to go,” Dorian chastised, and the younger boy flinched at his brother’s cold voice.

“I-I’ll find a way to help you, I promise,” he murmured, hoping he hadn’t lied, before standing up and quickly going to follow Dorian, keeping his head down. His brother had said that he’d have to enchant a young Countess this time, so their business ordeals would keep going up. It was the least Virgil could do, seeing how hard it was to get books to help him control his magic. And a mage serves his family, no matter what, he reminded himself.

As he followed his brother, he wanted to question that mantra for the first time in forever.

But he knew better by now.

“Remember, Virgil. No slip-ups. We’re only doing as Mother taught us.”

“Yes, sir.”

~

Virgil was aware of the pitying looks he and his brother always got when they attended any social function. He often cast curses to weaken it, because Dorian didn’t want to be seen as weak, he wanted to make a name for himself as the new Lord Sanders, and Virgil helped him, of course he did. 

Dorian talked with everyone and charmed them all. The enchantment to make sure that  _ everyone _ liked Dorian and not just the majority was straining but he kept in the shadows. At least it was only a few hours this time.

(He’d fainted two times already because Dorian didn’t know when to stop with his pursuits of fame and fortune. But that was his own issue, he told himself. He should just get stronger, really.)

A mage had to serve his family, after all.

(He missed his mother. She had understood when he was strained and never asked for more than he could comfortably provide. But mother was gone, and Dorian had no patience for flaws. Because that’s what his fatigue was: a flaw, he reminded himself.)

He had to grow up fast, they all had. The future wasn’t kind to those that lingered on the past.

(He saw how a girl that was a year older than him followed her father around, obviously shy, envious that she could still act on those emotions)

“What are you doing here all alone, don’t you have friends here?”

Virgil looked up- quickly bowing and letting his gaze fall to the ground, forcing his breath to be calm.

“Your Royal Highness, what do I owe the honour?” he asked, still not daring to look further than the eldest prince’s boots. If Dorian found out, he would be in so much trouble, he’d be done for, he was sure.

He didn’t notice how the Prince’s face fell. Thomas was used to everyone only seeing his title, but he had, against his better judgement, hoped that at least someone here would see further than that. But he put on a smile, it wouldn’t do to insult this kid, and his family to boost, by being rude.

“Just stopping by, you seemed lonely,” he admitted, hoping to help the younger one relax.

It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, as the boy tensed, seemingly shrinking at the Prince’s words (Thomas didn’t know that Virgil had caught Dorian’s enraged eyes, or that Virgil quietly bid good-bye to his meals for a few days). “I’m not a big fan of these kinds of events, Your Royal Highness,” he replied as quietly as he could, his mother’s lessons about a loud and clear speaking voice preventing him from swallowing his words, just like they prevented him from slouching if anyone was even in his vicinity.

“You don’t have to rattle down the title every time, that’s just wasting time,” Thomas smiled, hoping it would help the nervous kid relax.

“Yes, of course, I’m so-I apologize,” Virgil quickly muttered, nails digging into his hands at the mistake. He was talking with the  _ Prince _ , he couldn’t talk as if he was speaking to a  _ normal person _ .

“It’s really no issue… Are you okay, though? I’m sorry if I’m intruding,” Thomas added as an afterthought, seeing the dark boy in front of him flush, eyes almost bulging out of his face So he was right, then. “You could tell me? I  _ am _ supposed to help my people, after all,” he encouraged.

Any other time, Virgil would have lied, would have claimed that he was fine, but the Prince seemed so kind, like he wouldn’t mind listening to his miniscule problems. But he still knew better than to lay any blame on his brother, he had no interest in sealing his own death penalty.

“A… friend of mine is, well, he’s facing some problems with his… parents, and I want to help him, but my… my family doesn’t want me to even associate with them, in fear of tainting our name,” he explained, satisfied with his explanation. It was close enough to the real situation for any advice the Prince might give him to be useful, and far enough removed that he wouldn’t guess anything was wrong in Virgil’s home.

“Well, family doesn’t always know what’s best.” Thomas shrugged. “I’m not saying you should get in trouble with you family, of course, but just… well, look if it’s worth to get in trouble over. If so, you’ll be able to deal with any backlash you get, and you parents will probably get your motive.”

Virgil needed a second to process all the Prince had said, before looking up. Thomas gulped as he met the younger one’s gaze. He hadn’t expected the nervous boy to be so  _ intense _ all of a sudden.

“You mean that if I’m able to handle the punishment, I should commit the crime?” he asked, something hopeful in his voice.

“No! - Or, yes, I suppose, but-please don’t commit any crimes? I don’t want to enable that kinda stuff.” Thomas almost stumbled over his words a few times, but, surprisingly, the kid chuckled at that, looking like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I won’t, Your Royal Highness. But thank you for your time. I fear I have to go now, but I hope you’ll have an enjoyable evening,” he smiled. Thomas returned it, albeit shakily, watching the boy bow before going through the halls, quickly disappearing in the crowd.

“Is something wrong?” Logan asked, settling next to his brother, smirking at the few centimetres he had on him.

“Huh, no, just- it doesn’t matter. Where’s Roman?” Thomas tensed as a chuckle escaped his usually so stiff sibling.

“Enjoying himself. I think you should get him away from the punch before he begins to dance on the tables,” Logan grinned. Thomas only yelped-very unprincely- before running off to look for his baby brother.

He didn’t see how Dorian scolded his brother. Didn’t see the determined glint settle in Virgil’s eyes.

~

At first Virgil considered confronting Dorian, but he discarded that idea before even considering it. They had to get help for Patton, maybe even relive Dorian of his title if it was possible, but first Patton had to  _ get out _ . (He began doing some of the chores with his magic, chalking it up to practice even to himself, while he waited for the opportunity to help.)

He hadn’t talked with Patton since he gave him the handkerchief, too nervous to face his step-brother (because he knew that he had done nothing to deserve being part of the other’s family. But that would change. It had to,  _ he _ had to change). He waited for Dorian to calm down, for his punishment to end, for his magic to be replenished again (hunger always made it so much more difficult to use his powers, to Dorian’s great frustration).

~

It took two months.

Two months, until he had it all figured out, until he had enough magic to pull it off, until he had collected his courage.

They would hold a party this evening. Dorian would be all over a Marquis in hopes of another connection, and as long as Virgil kept the enchantment up and everyone was charmed, Dorian wouldn’t even look at any other guests, too preoccupied with his own goals.

He had begun taking on more and more of Patton’s chores, and he knew that the older boy had noticed by now. But it didn’t matter. He’d let Patton bathe and clean himself in his room, maybe even cut his hair with a charm he’d found for exactly that purpose. Then he’d give Patton a suit that had belonged to his father and put an illusion on it so it would look like it fit. Virgil would only be able to hold it for an hour at most, so Patton had to be quick. But Virgil knew that an old family friend of the Sanders family, a Dame only going by Valerie, would attend and surely help him.

This would work, he knew.

He waited for Dorian to lock Patton in his room, like he always did on days when a feast was to be held, and used his magic to unlock the door when Dorian was a safe distance away. He’d love to sneak into Patton’s old room instead, since it was closer, but Dorian had locked it up when he gave Patton the new one and the hinges of the door were bound to make noise when moved.

When he opened the door, he squinted at the low light. (He tried not to think of how small this room was, of how much it was a servant’s quarter and not a noble’s chamber) Patton was taking out a book he’d hid in his pillow case, when he heard his door open, stiffening for a moment, before quickly stuffing the book back into the case and pretending to play with the rough cotton, sending a smile at Virgil, even though the other could see Patton’s surprise when he wasn’t faced with Dorian.

“I-Follow me, okay? I’m gonna help you get out of here,” Virgil murmured, shoulders hunched, even though he should know better.

Patton wanted to jump up, wanted to dance and kiss the other in thanks, wanted to believe him more than anything. But-But he didn’t know Virgil. He only knew what Dorian would do if he found him outside his room. “Why should I- How can you prove it?” he asked warily.

He almost felt guilty at the young boy’s obvious anxiety, but… but he had to be sure, just in case. “I-I’m… I’m a mage! And-And I- I just… a mage is supposed to help his family, and even though I don’t deserve it, I’d like to earn a place as your brother, and you don’t deserve what Dorian does to you and I’m sorry I didn’t stop it sooner.”

Patton blinked at the unexpected confession, before grinning and standing up, pulling Virgil into a tight hug. The younger boy squeaked, but quickly relaxed in his arms. “Thank you,” he smiled, and pretended that he didn’t notice Virgil wiping his cheeks when they eventually parted. His own eyes were dangerously wet, after all.

“Okay, follow me, we gotta be quiet, but I’ll explain everything to you when we’re in my room,” Virgil ordered and Patton easily complied, trusting his friend- could he already consider the other as a friend?

Everything went according to plan, at first. Patton was clean for the first time in so long, Virgil managed to enchant the way-too-big suit to fit the thirteen-year old, and they were ready to descend to the ballroom, Patton making a detour so he could easier mingle with the other guests until he found Valerie.

But, just as he wanted to join the other nobles, Dorian spotted him.

Patton stiffened, afraid.

He saw how Dorian excused himself, smile as warm and charming as ever, stumbling back. Oh no, this had been a mistake. Oh no, oh no, nonononono, Dorian was mad, he would punish him, he’d never escape, what had he been  _ thinking _ ?

“What are you doing here?” Dorian hissed, pressing Patton against the cold wall, crowding him. Patton couldn’t breathe, could only close his eyes and hope his tears wouldn’t spill.

When Virgil spotted the pair, the young boy felt his hands begin to shake, legs moving before he could think about it. 

“Get-Get off him!” Virgil interrupted, and Dorian wanted to hiss at his little brother to mind his own damned business, but when he saw the magic burning in his eyes, he grit his teeth and stepped back. It seemed like Virgil had gotten a spine at last, how disgusting.

“Did you help my servant play dress-up?” he asked coldly, careful to keep an eye on Patton while making it seem like his sole focus laid on Virgil.

“He’s  _ not _ your servant, and I’ll help him get away from you, Dorian!” the young boy growled and the snake smiled. It had been so long since his baby brother had stood up to him, or even dared meet his eyes. It’d be fun to remind him of his place in the family.

“Oh really? Well, I can’t help but be curious… since when, exactly, do you think that you can defy me?”

“I’m not your-your property! You can’t make me do the dirty work just because you don’t have the  _ guts _ -“

The sound of skin on skin echoed through the hall.

Dorian towered over his little brother, glaring down at the patch of red that was already forming on his right cheek. He grabbed his brother’s hair so he wouldn’t run away.

“You, Virgil, are a  _ mage _ , remember? We both know that you won’t ever achieve anything yourself, so why don’t you spare us both the drama and do as you’re told? Are you that against being useful, at least for once? Do you actively  _ want _ for mother to turn in her grave?” he continued, even as he saw Virgil wanting to interrupt him through his crying. “Don’t you remember what she taught us? If we want to succeed, you have to do your part, Virgil. Remind me what Mother taught us, why don’t you?” he asked.

As no answer came, he rested his other hand against the reddened cheek of his baby brother, a gesture that seemed so gentle but made Virgil tremble with fear, tears streaming down his face.

“A-A mage helps his family but stays in the shadows,” he recited, voice quivering.

Dorian smiled, but it looked more like he was baring his teeth. “Correct. Now, you loosen that ridiculous illusion you put on my servant, and make sure my enchantments are on point, and maybe I’ll even let you off with a light punishment, wouldn’t that be ideal?”

Virgil shook his head, needing a second to find his voice again. “N-No, I won’t… I won’t help you, not anymore.”

Dorian’s face darkened, but Virgil stood his ground. “Well…” He sighed, “you brought this on yourself, baby brother.”

Virgil couldn’t even react before Dorian had slammed his head against the cold grey walls. He glared at Patton, who yearned to interrupt, but- “You will go to your room, if you don’t want to add more to your list of crimes, gimp.” he hissed.

“Just-just let me take care of him!” Patton cried out. He knew that he had thrown away his one chance at escape, but he still wanted to show Virgil his gratitude, if he could. Dorian scoffed, but shoved Virgil over to him. As Patton caught him, he was painfully aware how young Virgil was. Only eleven years old, and he had still tried to sand up to Dorian for him.

He half-carried Virgil as they followed Dorian to his room, flinching as he heard the lock click.

It’d take years until they’d be able to escape.

But right now, Patton cared for his little brother, as they both found comfort in the other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo....   
> turns out the backstory is going to stretch a bit and actually become a part of the story, funny how that works... (blame it on Dorian actually getting a Personality, even though he's still an ass) 
> 
> I hope you'll like it, kudos and comments are much appreciated <3

The next day, Patton woke up to an open door and was just about to let his… _visitor_ sleep on his bed until the boy naturally woke up, when the eleven-year old rubbed the sleep from his eyes, seemingly just to put a dent in his stellar planning. The moment he wanted to go out the door, too.

“Where you going?”

“Don't worry about it, I'm just getting breakfast ready for your brother, go on sleeping,” Patton answered with a hushed voice, but Virgil, after furrowing his brow as he tried to make sense of his words -the older boy had to resist the urge to squeal at the cuteness- scowled and moved to get up.

“What the- Stay in bed! You're hurt!” Patton tried to push Virgil back onto his cot, but the younger boy pushed him away.

“Let me-” Virgil tried pushing Patton away. “Let me _go_! I wanna help you,” he muttered.

Patton was _so_ close to ordering Virgil to stay in bed, but-

He saw how the boy hunched in on himself, how he played with the sleeves of his jacket and evaded his gaze.

A sigh escaped him.

“Just… stop if you don't feel alright, okay?” Virgil nodded in response, grinning up at the older boy with a bit too much cheer for someone who'd woken up while the sun was still on its way to rise above the horizon.

But Patton had to discover that, after having talked and grinned freely at the prospect of spending time with him, Virgil took on a much more demure demeanour as soon as he went outside Patton’s room. His voice was subdued and respectful as he asked Patton what he should do, he asked as few questions as possible and seemed ashamed of those he _did_ ask. While doing his tasks he didn't really speak a word, and Patton was… a bit confused at how… Virgil acted like he was afraid of him.

But the older boy knew he needed to have breakfast finished on time, and prepare some of the more throughout cleaning he'd do in the day, as well as Lunch and Dinner, not to forget the animals he'd just fed needed to be taken care of, and he sorely felt how he himself hadn't had breakfast yet-

But when Virgil broke a plate and couldn't even manage to _breathe_ , the only thing coming from him being panicked apologies… Patton put his food down. (And tried not to join Virgil in his panic.)

He put the scones he'd prepared in the oven before kneeling in front of the other, holding the scrawny boy's shoulders as he tried to meet his eyes.

“Virgil, what's wrong?” he asked -slightly hysterical with nerves- suppressing a scream as he was met with yet another slew of broken off apologies instead of an answer.

“I'm not angry, Virge, I just want you to calm down, can you do that?”  he asked, voice a bit too high, trying to keep his worries at bay as he took care to slow his breathing and make it as loud as possible, taking one of Virgil’s hands and holding it to his chest so he could feel his breathing (but hopefully not the rapid beating of his heart) and try mimicking it.

Time seemed to slow as Virgil tried to regulate his panicked gasps, seconds stretching into hours and minutes seeming to last for centuries. When Virgil finally managed to calm, he quickly snatched his hand away and swallowed down the excuses trying to escape him.

Patton had made it obvious that he didn't care about his useless babble, so he should just keep _quiet_ and let the older boy chastise him for his impudent behaviour (stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ), before fixing the plate and hoping to make it up to him somehow.

~

Patton noticed how Virgil deflated as soon as he composed himself, shoulders hunching over, eyes staying on the ground, holding his breath and nails digging into his palms to keep them from shaking as if ready for a- _oh_.

“I'm not angry with you, Virge,” he murmurs, observing how Virgil glances at him as if he'd just told him the sky was green and the Sanders Manor a Chinese temple. “You… it was an accident, why would I-” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “It was an accident, no need to worry, okay?” he smiled, trying to be encouraging. (And trying to ignore how Virgil looked at him as if he didn't know if he was a lunatic or a saint.)

“Okay,” the eleven-year old whispered, standing up and offering Patton a smile, even as his fingers twitched with the urge to hug his -and he hoped he didn't overstep by even thinking this- friend. “Thank you,” he added, despite himself.

Patton wanted to say that there was no need to thank him, but he saw the clock tick seven-fifty and yelped as he ran to get the scones out of the oven, jumping over the shards of the plate on his way.

Fortunately his hands were already callused, meaning it didn't hurt when he put all the scones in a basket, next to the platter where Virgil had prepared eggs and a bit of bread. “How about you help me get all this to the dining room and eat with your brother while I clean this up.” Patton was already getting all the food he could on a tray, not noticing how Virgil deflated, before puffing up like an enraged kitten.

“I'm gonna help you. It's the least I can do after failing to… help you,” he decided, getting a tray for himself while ignoring his misstep. “And I'm gonna fix the plate.”

Before Patton could even think to protest, Virgil had already gone out the room. The older boy hid his smile. He knew he shouldn't be so happy, but the thought of not being alone for once was just so- so _exhilarating!_

~

Dorian was pacing in his room, berating himself. What had he _done_? Virgil was his **brother** , not-not some _servant_ , but he'd treated him like dirt- and then he'd **locked him away,** with _Patton_ of all people, without even caring for his injuries! Injuries _he_ had caused…

He gulped past the lump in his throat. It was nearly eight, time to eat… and to apologize.

The thought made him feel sick, but… but his baby brother deserved an apology. Even though, he had to admit, this wouldn't have happened if he'd just _listened_. Like he was _supposed to_.

He pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. It didn't matter that his brother held part of the blame, _he_ had still been the one who acted on his stupid, _stupid_ emotions. But… but they could get over this. He would apologize and he would spend the day with Virgil to prove to him how much he cared for him, despite his misgivings, and everything would turn back to normal, he was sure.

He smiled, finally finding his calm. He puzzled together his straying thoughts, until he recognized his polite and never-leaving smile in the mirror. He was glad that there was nothing to get done today, it meant that there was no need to conceal the dark circles under his eyes. And Virgil would surely be moved to forgive him if he saw how sorry he was.

He shot his reflection a winning smile before putting on a new set of clothes, discarding his bathrobe to the floor. Patton would pick it up when he cleaned his room.

Dorian smirked as he saw the chaos in his chambers. Usually he kept at least some semblance of order, if only so he found his bearings quicker, but right now he felt petty enough to leave it like this, pushing a vase filled with lilies over as well, watching the water stain the wooden flooring and the chest it'd stood on, but halting the vase on its way to the edge of it. It wouldn't do to destroy his own property, after all.

~

Patton placed the teapot on the table and was just about to leave the room when he heard Dorian enter. He fastened his gait, against better knowledge. He saw how Virgil moved to follow him, but Dorian interrupted him.

“Virgil! Sit with me?” the oldest boy asked, voice devoid of his usual commanding tone, instead sounding uncharacteristically insecure. The youngest boy froze, trying to find an excuse not to, but settling on stopping in front of his brother, ignoring the chair next to him. Dorian swallowed the urge to hiss at his little brother to just _obey him for once_. But he was trying to apologize, he reminded himself.

“Pour us both a cup of tea, why don't you, houseboy?” he smiled, a bit too tightly to be real.

“Of course, sir.”

Virgil played with his sleeves and yearned to be anywhere but here while Patton did as he was told. Dorian either didn't see or didn't care for his discomfort. The older boy tried smiling at his brother, pushing a cup of tea in Virgil’s direction like a peace offering. Virgil kept on standing, ignoring the steaming cup.

The other swallowed, searching for words.

“I-I wanted… that is to say… I have realized that my- I just wanted to- **would you stop staring already?”**

Patton jumped, shrinking back and nodding quickly, wasting no time in leaving the room, glad to get away.

The sound of the door shutting seemed louder than it had any right to.

Dorian ran a hand through his hair, movement frantic and without it's usual grace. “I- What I want to say is that I'm sorry, Virgil,” he muttered, fatigue catching up with him. “I should never- I shouldn't ever even have _considered_ hurting you, but I did, and… I apologize. But-But I'll be a better brother from now on, I promise! If you would do the same?” he finished, staring at Virgil while waiting for his answer.

The younger boy played with his sleeves, almost unravelling the fabric.

“You didn't apologize to Patton,” he murmured, fighting to keep a tremor out of his voice. (He should just accept the apology and leave it at that, it was more than he had expected, why did he have to be so difficult?)

“What- why should I apologize to him?” Dorian actually laughed at the suggestion, but quieted when Virgil stayed silent. “Don't tell me you're still feeling pity for that imbecile,” he hissed, but caught himself when Virgil flinched. He continued talking, not noticing his little brother trying to get a word in as he filled the air with his usual, sophisticated drawl.

“Excuse me… it's just still a mystery to me how you could care for such a blundering idiot. Really, he should be thankful I even keep him around…”

“But-”

“But what?!” Dorian’s expression softened as he saw how anxious his little brother was. “I know you want to see the best in people, Virgil, but trust me, there's nothing to _see_ with hi-"

“No! Patton’s.. Patton is nicer than you ever are! Don't- Don't just.” Virgil flapped his hands as he searched for the right words. “Don't just _assume_ he's like-like **you** , ‘cause you never bother to just _listen!_ I-He's… He's…”

A sigh escaped Dorian.

“Alright. That's enough,” he interrupted, suppressing the guilt he saw as his brother immediately froze. “You seem to forget who's your **family** , Virgil.”

The younger boy shook his head, but was too afraid to speak as Dorian reached out to take his hand, eyes filled with sympathy and care.

“You may... think you know how the world works, but you _don't_. That's why I'm the one in charge, remember?”

Virgil wanted to protest but nodded instead. He couldn't speak past the lump in his throat anyway.

Dorian smiled, relieved that his brother finally saw reason.

“How about we spend the day together, huh? Like old times?”

“Okay- I mean, yes- yes, sir”

“Hey, no need for courtly manners, it's just us today,” Dorian smiled, as charming as ever. (Virgil still couldn't tell if he was earnest or not, but-but that didn't matter, right?)

“Okay" Virgil said, still scared of doing something wrong and setting his brother off.

“Great! You could show me all these spells you've been practising behind my back- ah, don't try to deny it, Virgil! I know your little secret.” A chuckle escaped Dorian. “But don't worry, I'm not mad! You're a _mage_ , of course you'd want to expand your skills!”

~

Patton heard the brothers talk, until, eventually, Virgil sat down next to Dorian, their conversation never seeming to stop, even though Dorian talked most of the time.

Patton tried not to be disappointed, he really did. But… But he was alone, as he picked up the shards and threw them away. He was alone as he brushed the horses’ fur and cleaned up the kitchen. He was alone as he ate the remnants of the brother's breakfast, too tired to make his own, alone as he cleaned up the mess the party had left in the house, alone as he found the fallen vase in Dorian’s room and alone when he suppressed his fury.

His hands shook and he almost tipped the vase, almost threw it against the wall to shatter into a thousand pieces. (Couldn't… couldn't Dorian just… _stop_ , at least for once? He'd already taken his home, his life and his one chance at company. Did he _have_ to rub it into his face how much power over Patton he had? Wasn't it enough to make Patton call him ‘sir' and clean his room and do everything his former brother asked of him? Couldn't he just stop for _once_? Was that so much to ask?)

But he took a few breaths and fixed the mess, cleaned up everything until it was orderly and clean again.  

He resisted the urge to tear it all apart, knowing he'd be the one who'd have to clean it up later.

~

Dorian grinned and praised Virgil’s spellwork as they sat in the library. He showered his younger brother in compliments and asked him to explain the intricacies of magic to him, even though he'd never shown any interest in the theory behind it before. He tried to understand Virgil’s stammered explanations as he translated a concept that was as natural as breathing, as natural as the language his books were written in, to English. Virgil felt, for the first time in forever, like he could just ramble, like he didn't need to carefully consider every word he spoke. And his older brother may not understand per se, but he _tried_. And he actually started to believe that what had happened last night had just been an accident, just… a slip of the hand.

He finally managed to unravel the knot tied in his chest.

~

The first few days after his attempt to help Patton were like heaven, like old times. He laughed and joked and even argued with his brother and everything was good.

When he stumbled into his room he was too tired and happy to even think of his step-brother.

But, when he found Patton, washing the curtains from the old ballroom they never used, even though it was already past Midnight and he'd have to prepare breakfast in the morning, and do the thousand-and-one other chores that had blurred in Virgil’s memory, he was reminded. Guilt settled into his gut like a bolder. He hadn't… he hadn't even seen Patton the last few days, let alone talked to him or helped him. He-He had to remedy that.

“Can I help you with that?”

Patton turned so fast it gave Virgil whiplash, and had to blink past his fatigue and the spots in his eyes before he recognised Virgil.

“Oh. Shouldn't you be asleep?”

“Shouldn't you?” Virgil shot back, trying to keep his worry at bay but failing spectacularly when Patton grinned, a wry and humorless thing that seemed entirely _wrong_ on his face.

“Your brother's doing a mighty good job of keeping me working so long, you wouldn't wanna ruin his hard work now, would you?” he asked, and maybe he was bitter and maybe he let Virgil face the brunt of it because he would care and maybe he was being horrible. But he was so tired and his skin was starting to break in a way it hadn't since he'd first started to work as a servant in his own home, and he knew he wouldn't hear the end of it if his blood stained the damned curtains.

So maybe he didn't have the energy to even feel guilty about the shock and the hurt in Virgil’s face. Not like there was anyone here right now to reprimand him. Not like Dorian would awaken just to defend his baby brother. Even though, with how close they'd been the last few days, maybe he should rethink that.

Virgil startled as a broken, teary laugh escaped his step-brother.

“Okay, I'm gonna get you to sleep, and-and you're gonna wake up when you're not being weird anymore"

Patton didn't really respond, but he blinked in surprise as Virgil dragged him away from the sink, wanting to protest but letting it be when he saw the determined curl around the other's lips. He was too tired to argue anyways.

~

Virgil tucked Patton in, worrying his lip when he noticed how cold his room got in the spring night, and how thin his blanket was. He tried not to think how cold it had to be in winter, when even he felt the chill just outside his covers. But- no time for that. He healed Patton’s hands, even though healing magic was difficult and annoying in its intricacies, and quickly ran to his room to get one of the duvets usually reserved for the winter. He tried not to think too much about anything while he enchanted Patton’s sleep, to ensure both good dreams and for him to keep sleeping until he was well-rested.

The curtains were big and heavy and Virgil’s hands would've blistered and reddened if he hadn't healed them as often as he could manage.

When he put the curtains outside to dry he tried to heal his hands again, but his magic was already dried up and he flinched whenever he touched anything, but he worked on. He tried to remember as many tasks as his foggy mind would allow and to prepare as much as he could.

The realisation of how little he knew of Patton’s work schedule was humiliating, but still, he did all he could think of and a little more.

He worked until eight am, setting the breakfast and quickly running to the kitchen as he heard Dorian leave his chambers. He longed for sleep, but-but he knew there was still work to be done.

He cleaned the kitchen and once Dorian was done with breakfast, he fixed the flower arrangements Dorian had requested to be there just a month before- he only realised now that it must've been to overwork Patton even more (he only realised now that the bags under the other's eyes didn't always use to be there.)

Virgil was ready to fall asleep already, but he still had to clean his brother's room, before finally being able to _sleep_.

His muscles protested as he climbed the stairs, but just before he could go into his brother's room, he heard steps on the floor.

He ran to his room, hiding behind the door because he knew that he wouldn't be able to stand up if he laid down in his bed.

“Virgil? Is everything okay?” he heard his brother's voice. He was too tired to think of a better excuse,so he settled on the easiest one to pull off.

He faked a drowsy grumble and murmured a few words to himself, as if he just woke up, before groaning in full.

“Let me sleep! I've- I've looked at my-my books until…” a real yawn interrupted him. “Until way too late,” he ended, voice laced with fatigue, hoping it was enough.

Dorian chuckled, not a stranger to his brother's awful sleeping habits, and replied before going to his small office to take care of the correspondences and other paperwork that had staked up in the last few days.

He frowned when there wasn't any tea on his desk, but he supposed that he could forgive Patton for assuming today would be like the ones prior. He would just reprimand the servant if he saw him in the course of the day, but he doubted that. He had given him more than enough work to ensure neither he nor Virgil would see him, after all.

He began working with a self-satisfied smirk that his mother would've chastised him for.

~

When Virgil finally managed to get into Dorian’s room, he was ready to scream. It was a mess, everything thrown around and his brother had to have done this on purpose, because this much chaos could _not_ be natural, especially since Patton cleaned this room every day.

It took a ridiculous amount of time to clean up everything, and Virgil _knew_ that his brother wasn't this unorganized, he _knew_ that this was him being a petty jerk and he _knew_ that he had seldom hated him more.

Scratch that. He read over the list next to a vase filled with tulips. He had never hated Dorian more than _right in this moment_.

He needed a few minutes to not only read but also register what he saw in front of him. It shouldn't surprise him that Patton had looked like death warmed over, if he had to do so much every day!

Virgil wanted to call his brother out, wanted to ask him why the _hell_ he thought it necessary to punish Patton for _existing_ , but the peace between them was still so new. And Virgil… he had forgiven his brother, of course he had, but he hadn't forgotten.

So he wiped his eyes and looked at the list again. He couldn't do this all in one day. Thanks to his lack of practice he was already much slower than Patton, and the older one had been working himself to the bone to get Dorian’s dumb requests fulfilled.  

He tested his magic. It wasn't replenished, but it might be enough, if he was ready to push himself to the brink of unconsciousness.

( _If you're able to handle the punishment, commit the crime.)_

He got to work.

~

When Patton woke, he was warm and well-rested and he felt wonderful. Or, to reiterate: when Patton woke, he was confused.

He looked to the window, finding it just before his usual waking time. But how could he- Panic caught up with him. Oh no, oh no, this was _bad_. How- How could he even have slept that long? He was halfway across the door when he froze. That meant that Dorian’s room was still a mess, the list of tasks still on his chest, still undone, and he was in so much trouble…

He tried to swallow the fear in his gut as he sprinted down the corridor. He would- He'd just need to get started on his chores, and if he groveled enough while Dorian ate, maybe he could fix this, even though his already-bruised pride whined at the notion. But he didn't have time for that. His hands shook as he turned around a corner, but- stopped.

He blinked.

Blinked again.

Rubbed his eyes for good measure.

He sprinted forward as he realized that Virgil wouldn't disappear into thin air. He was curled into himself, with dark circles stamped under his eyes. Soothing, encouraging non-sense escaped Patton as he checked Virgil for anything that would've made him collapse in a hallway- had he lost weight in the few days he hadn't seen him?- but it only left him confused. Virgil’s hands were blistered and red, and his clothes were so dirty it was hard to recognize him as a noble, and Patton was sure by now that Virgil had gotten skinnier, his clothes hadn't hung on him like this before. The younger boy suddenly blinked at him, shooting him a tired smile as he saw that there weren't any bags under Patton’s eyes.

“Hey. You're awake. That's nice,” he mumbled and Patton didn't know whether he should shake him because how dare he be so uncaring toward his own obvious exhaustion or hug him, because his little step-brother obviously needed needed it.

“What- Why are you.” He took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. “What were you _doing?_ ” That question was general enough to get all the information he might need, right?

Virgil at least seemed to actually wake up, even though Patton felt sorry for keeping him from his rest.

“Oh, I'm sorry! I know I probably made like, a ton of mistakes, but you were so tired, and I didn't know how much work Dorian was giving you, and I'm really sorry, I know I should've done more, and you have any right to be angry, I get it, but I just wanted to-to help you so you could sleep, because you were so tired and I'm sorry for all the stuff I probably forgot!”

Patton needed a second to process the other's nervous rambling, before staring at Virgil in wonder, even as the bo fidgeted, seemingly trying to  merge with the wall in his back.

“You… You're saying that you.” it was actually a fight to get the words out of his mouth, they seemed too unreal. “That you did my work?”

Virgil nodded, and before he could apologize for all the faults his work had, his arms were full of Patton, and he was cradled in the other's arms and Patton was-he was warm and soft, the opposite of him, too drained not to freeze and too scrawny for his bones not to poke the older boy.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Patton cried past his tears, and Virgil was relieved enough that he let himself relax, let the fears at the back of his mind go ignored. He hugged back, and he felt save, so unimaginably _safe_ , like Patton could protect him from anything bad in the world.

~

He felt how Virgil eventually relaxed completely, breath slowing as he slipped into sleep. Patton smiled, trying to ignore the sad tinge to it. Looked like he wasn't all alone after all.

Virgil was too light, as he carried him to his room. Patton knew that having to work in the house so much had given him a bit more strength than before (carrying sacks of potatoes and flour and sugar would do that) but still, his step-brother was too small, too skinny to be healthy.

(He remembered how often Dorian had told him that Virgil wasn't hungry, always after some social function or another. Remembered how he'd been so busy that the only thing he felt was relief because that was at least one task less.)

He frowned, swearing to himself to take care of his little brother.

Virgil’s room was orderly, if you didn't look at the desk. It was filled with papers scribbled on in some sort of script Patton couldn't read, it probably belonged to the language he spoke when doing his magic. Books were staked up and some were opened on top of each other and the air was so stale that he debated moving Virgil to one of the guest rooms, but in the end he only opened the windows that looked like they'd been shut for years.

He tucked his step-brother in, before leaving to get to work.

There was a skip in his step that wasn't there before.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Virgil spent almost the whole day sleeping, and when he finally awoke to his brother requesting his presence, he was tempted to just roll over and sleep until the sun went away. 

But Dorian kept knocking, getting progressively less patient. Virgil almost screamed, but managed to fall out of bed and get dressed, scrubbing the dirt off his face and pulling some gloves over his hands. He was pretty sure he would faint instantly if he tried using his magic. 

He took a breath before opening his door. 

“There you are!” Dorian didn't wait for an invitation, just strolling into his brother's room and sitting down on the armchair next to the opened window. Virgil managed to hide his surprise at that last bit. “What have you been doing yesterday? Did you draw again? Remember, practice makes perfect.“ Dorian smiled like he'd just soothed Virgil’s insecurities and made everything better by sharing his wisdom. The older brother picked up Virgil’s sketchbook before he could stop him. The younger one tried not to let it get to him when Dorian softly chuckled as he went through his scrawled drawings. His scribbles were horrible, since he had no talent and not enough practice to make up for that. He  _ knew _ that. So he couldn't blame his brother for laughing, right? 

“What do you want?” he still asked, if only so Dorian would stop  _ chuckling _ , would stop reminding him that he'd never be good at anything other than magic (he shouldn't even try, magic was embedded into his soul, it was  **all** he would ever amount to.) 

“Don't be rude, Virgie. It's all in good fun, no?” Dorian soothed. A sigh escaped him before he continued. “But… there will be 

a small get-together later this evening and I would be  _ delighted _ if you made sure that all ends meet...”

Virgil was afraid, but he didn't regret a thing.

“I can't. My magic’s all spent… I'm sorry,” he muttered, watching his brother to gauge his reaction. 

Dorian upturned his nose in an almost comical way, scowling. “Of course. Did you do your own little spells again?” He put the sketchbook away, standing up to loom over his little brother, a sardonic smile on his face and in his tone. “I allow you to pursue passions that you'll never master- I even let you experiment and play with your magic- And you can't even manage to do the  _ one _ thing I ask of you?  _ The one thing?  _ I only want you to help me provide for the both of us, but you can't even bother to do that?” Dorian shouted, hands raised, (Virgil flinched) apparently angry with himself, his tone scathing. “What should I expect from an ungrateful brat like you?” 

Virgil said nothing, looking at the floorboards. He wanted to help his brother, wanted to prove himself worthy as a part of their family, but he knew he couldn't. Why did he have to be so weak? Why couldn't he  _ not  _ be a disappointment for once in his life?! 

Dorian glared at his little brother, enraged at his silence just like he would be at his excuses and apologies. 

“Don't you have anything to say for yourself?” he asked, suddenly urgent, just looking for an answer. 

“I'm sorry,” his brother whispered. 

He could only scoff at that, suddenly tired. Of course he was. But he couldn't let Virgil face his wrath. “Spare me. I'll come back when you are needed again.” He stood up, sliding the sketchbook over the edge of the small table so it fell on its pages, crumbling them in the process. 

“Mother would be ashamed,” he murmured, seemingly to himself. 

The door closed. 

~ 

Dorian had left an hour ago, saying that Virgil wasn't hungry and to be left alone. So naturally, Patton made dinner for the both of them, loaded it onto a tray and knocked three times before going into his step-brother's room to keep him company. 

Virgil was looking at him with suspicion. Patton smiled. His suspicion grew.

“Hey kiddo, I thought you might want something to eat,” he smiled, and now Virgil was outright confused (still believing that he'd made up the hug and the too kind words, because it was too good to be anything but made up.) 

“But I- Didn't Dorian tell you?” 

(Why did Patton care?)

“Tell me what, Virge?” 

(Why did his bewilderment seem to hide concern?)

“That I couldn't do my job?! That I'll work until I get another task? That I won't- That I'm not hungry?” 

Patton was taken aback as the other whispered his correction, as self-hatred made his eyes look black instead of grey, but he tried not to show it.

“Virgil, that's… ” He tried to continue, voice a bit too soft to carry his growing concern. But.. He'd come here to talk with Virgil, to spend some time together. And it had been so long since he'd had a real conversation... 

He put on a sunny grin, turning his back to what glared at him.

“Well, I made enough for two, if you change your mind.”

“... Okay.” A pause. “Did you want to talk about anything?” 

“Nothing in particular, kiddo! Just… you helped me twice now, and I still don't know anything about you!” he grinned, hands moving against his will, expectations and hopes so obvious it hurt. 

“Well… there's not that much to tell.” He saw how Virgil sank into himself, and desperation tinged his voice. 

“But you're a  _ mage _ ! That's  _ amazing- _ what kinda spells can you do?”

“I do mostly… mostly manipulative spells, or illusions.”

“Mostly? What else can you do?” Patton was almost bouncing in his seat in excitement. “You have so many books in here, they can't all be about that, kiddo!” 

Virgil smiled and he wanted to hug him. 

“Well… there are also spells for creating things, and, like, organic magic. Healing and controlling plants…” 

“Ohh, you can control plants? That's so awesome, kiddo, it's like magic gardening!” 

Virgil laughed before replying. 

“I guess? it's really different from illusions, but kind of better? Even though it's harder… it's an honest kind of thing, you know?” 

“Yeah.” Patton shrugged, trying to find words. “I… they're alive, but, not like we are. We… Humans always... think and overthink, and plants don't. They're… simple. And it's peaceful, but it's also super different from us!”

He wrung his hands as a thought shot into his head. He shouldn't… but Virgil himself had said that he liked doing organic magics…

“Uhm, Virgil…”

The addressed resisted the urge to bolt. “Yeah?” 

“Would you…” Patton stopped himself, unable to believe his egocentrism. “I'm sorry, forget I said anything-” an awkward laugh tried to lift the mood- “I was being selfish. What can you tell me about that language you always speak when doing your spells?” 

“No, you- don't just deflect! Please?” Virgil added, anxiety flaring up. “What did you wanna ask?” 

Patton shook his head, almost smiling- because Virgil treated him like his wants still mattered, even though the rest of the world so vehemently disagreed

“I just… I wanted to ask if you could… help me. -Nothing big, of course! Just… the roses Mom planted are-they're the only thing that's mine anymore.” His voice was so quiet. He used to rather shout than mutter anything, before. He’d tried to fit all his ideas and emotions in his words and chose to just be louder when he failed. He'd made himself heard, before. He wondered how he could've ever been so courageous.

“I was just wondering if you could help me grow a few in my room. Since I never… find the time” another laugh, as if his lack of time was an organizational error. “You don't have to, of course! It's just an idea, a hope really. Just a… a silly hope I should've  _ weeded  _ by now” he grinned at his pun, lighting up when Virgil smiled, something that surprised both. 

“I… I don't think it's a weed, though,” Virgil muttered. “More like, a, uhm… gladiolus?” Patton wondered how Dorian’s quiet shadow and the caring boy in front if him were one person as a giggle escaped him. 

“I… my magic’s really drained right now… but in… a week, I think; I could do it.”

Virgil was engulfed in a bone-crushing hug before he could even finish his sentence, hearing Patton ramble in his ear. He hesitantly smiled, before hugging back. 

~ 

“You can do it!” Patton cheered, nine days  later, returning the small smile Virgil gave him, as purple magic curled around the boy's finger tips, slithering across his arms as the tendrils fell to the floor and grew in volume, enveloping the small chamber in purple fog, it's glow growing weaker as it lost in density. 

Patton rolled on his feet in excitement as he watched Virgil work. The darkness of the night was being chased away by the magic, as it formed small tendrils that braided themselves together to rise up the wall and out the window he'd opened, fortunate that the summer night was warm. 

Virgil murmured a few more words in the mystery language that sounded more natural in his mouth than English. Patton watched as Virgil stood up straight, truly confident for the first time. 

He puppeteered the tendrils with only his right hand now, using the other to paint patterns in the air, eyes glowing, seeing something invisible, grinning as he succeeded. 

He moved his left hand so the thumb touched his index finger, curling his fingers to form a tube with his hand. Virgil took a deep breath before blowing into it, maybe whispering some other words in the mysterious language. 

He clenched the hand into a fist, and Patton gasped as he saw the earth in the flower pots tremble, as if to match him. They almost threatened to break, some earth falling to the ground, but little blooms began to grow and blossom, growing years in only a few minutes. Patton could see no difference between them and the roses his mother had planted (he still knew how she laughed and told him the flowers were Special, one in a million, impossible to replicate or find anywhere else, leaning in as if it were a great secret.) 

As the roses were in bloom just like those outside, Virgil stopped, opening his fist and raised his palm to the ceiling. He whispered one last word, before closing his eyes, the magic beginning to dissipate until it was entirely gone, at which point he opened his eyes again, purple glow having left his eyes. 

But Virgil couldn't even take one breath before he was crushed in a hug, hearing Patton- cry? and gush about his magic and  _ how totally cool that had looked, oh my god, this is amazing! Thank you so much!  _

The roses turned into one of the few redeeming lights in his life, one of the few small things that kept Patton from snapping at Dorian when he told him to  _ clean that again, and do it right this time, idiot.  _ Virgil and he began splitting up the chores Patton had to do, always trying to have some time together. Patton taught Virgil how to do his share without having to rely on his magic, and Virgil loved to learn from Patton, loved to have someone teach him who wasn't impatient or strict, even if he didn't care much for the material.  

But his favourite times were when they worked in the gardens, when he got to listen to Patton talk about something with such a deep love and appreciation. Patton was always kind, so kind that he waited for the other shoe to drop, for his friend to lose his patience and just… lose control. He waited with bated breath, as Patton taught him about herbs and flowers, even though he lacked in talent, because he knew that this-this kind and sweet together they had, it was impossible to last. 

He tried to keep himself as useful as he could though, even if it was only to prolong the inevitable. 

~

(He wanted to think of Patton as an older brother, but it seemed too unusual to connect a title he'd only ever associated with Dorian with someone like  **Patton** .) 

~ 

The more time Patton spent with Virgil, the clearer the stark differences between the brothers became. He still remembered how Dorian had been charming and unapologetic but polite at all times, how he'd always been talking and teasing and exaggerating. He remembered how delightful their friendship had been, and in hindsight he recognized how shallow it was. His older step-brother was always pleasant but never honest. Always charming but never earnest. 

It began to sicken him, how Dorian hid behind his facade of courtesy and flattery, how he used it to control Virgil and  everyone else as well. 

It sickened him because his flowery words had thorns that cut deeper than a knife. Because Virgil never seemed to  _ breathe _ , always looking ready to bolt. Because he was a servant, and scared to try and be anything else anymore. 

It wasn't moral. 

~ 

Two weeks passed before Dorian knocked on his brother's door again. He had kept an eye on the house and been satisfied to see that Virgil seemed to focus on his studies, like he should. Dorian may not be sure what about magic was so difficult that his brother needed to continuously get new books, each more obscure than the last, but he couldn't argue with the results, most times. He wouldn't even mind the price, if he would only do his job  _ consistently _ , but it always seemed like he preferred to waste his energy on some senseless experiment, instead of focusing on what was  _ important _ . 

Couldn't his brother understand that he had a duty to fulfill? That his family- that  _ Dorian _ needed him to focus?

But it didn't matter now. Virgil had seemed to have learned his lesson, studying until the sun began to rise. He collected all the hope he had for his baby brother to have finally matured a bit as he knocked.

He couldn't help grinning when he was proven right, feeling so proud of his little brother. 

~ 

Virgil was feeling sick. 

Smiling at Dorian was easy, even when his heartbeat echoed in his ears. Chatter continued to fill the air and he even joined in when it was necessary. But he felt the spell bound to his brother, felt how it invaded her thoughts and twisted them into something he didn't recognize. 

He knew that the heiress hated his brother's guts, but it took only a few seconds for that to change. They smiled and laughed together now, and Virgil would do anything to be anywhere else. But he needed to do this, to stay in his brother's good graces. He had looked so proud when they sat in the carriage and Virgil confirmed how easy it would be to hold the spell he'd come up with. 

He only watched as Dorian charmed the heiress further, his magic silencing all the warning bells that rang in her head. 

At the end of the night, Dorian had one more business partner, one more contact. He wore a self-satisfied smile as the left. 

“Good job tonight. I'm proud of you.” 

Dorian ruffled his hair and Virgil smacked his hand away but couldn't quite hold his relieved smile. He'd done well. He'd served his family. He'd been good- someone to be proud of, even. 

When they were finally back at the Sanders Mansion, it was half past one and Dorian made them a small pot of tea so they could calm down together. As they exchanged laughs, chatter and some quips, fatigue began to catch up with both of them. Dorian smiled when he bid his brother good-night. 

“You did great tonight, Virgie. Let's keep it that way, alright?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Everything was good, maybe even great. 

(Or at least it was, if he didn't think too much, if he just listened, just obeyed.)

~

Some days, even small details would set Dorian off. On those days, Patton’s ears rang with the shouted tirade still echoing in his head, insults pounding against his skull like battle axes. He'd tried apologizing, at first, but it had only made everything worse. 

Dorian wanted him to quietly accept his many,  _ many _ faults and flaws and Patton desperately tried to remind himself that Dorian was only being angry, only saying things…  but, well, if you hear some things so often, it must be true, right? Even when it made your stomach turn or your heart ache? If Dorian said so,  _ again and again, so long that he knew when to try and grow deaf, that he already flinched when he heard him start,  _ then it must be right, correct? Even when part of him protested to every syllable coming out of the seventeen-year-old’s mouth, right? 

He knew by now how stupid, annoying and untalented- how unfit for the responsibilities of an earl he was. As if he needed to be reminded of his father choosing Dorian as his heir, of how he'd been… replaced. The older boy always liked to remind him of  _ why  _ his father had been right to do so anyway, taking pleasure in throwing salt into a still-healing wound. But it was all his fault, he deserved it, he should count himself lucky for even being allowed to stay in the Manor. Even if part of him was outraged and indignant and so terribly  _ angry _ , because Dorian was acting… he had no reason to be so mean! To be so cruel! Patton did all he could, so where did the need to put him down further come from? He hated to think it, but was Dorian just- just evil like that? He didn't like the mere idea of someone just being mean for the sake of it. And he knew that, technically, Dorian said the truth, so did he really have the right to complain? Shouldn't he just accept the truth Dorian presented him? The greater part of himself already had, after all. 

-This chaos of thoughts and ideas accompanied him every day, and he hated how they stopped him from doing anything to defy his older step-brother. (Neither he nor his parents had ever treated their servants like this. They'd never… but he was being stupid again. Or was he? No, he should be grateful for what he had, not complain, not be stupid.) 

It was only when he spent time with Virgil that he managed to keep his mind silent. The younger one was always acting like Patton was an authority, like he still mattered in the same way as before… 

It warmed him, gave him hope. That there was someone who still listened when he spoke. Someone who had to grin at his puns. 

Because, if at least one person saw him as worthy, maybe he could be. 

~

Virgil had just finished cleaning the windows in one of the music rooms and had wanted to ask Patton what he was supposed to do next, when he heard his brother's voice. He hid, painfully aware of his dirty and ruffled clothing. It didn't bother him, but Dorian knew that training with his magic didn't leave him that disheveled. 

-He heard Dorian shout.

and he wasn't surprised. It made shame churn behind his ribs, but he'd suspected that Dorian had found some other outlet for his anger when he'd started becoming more lenient, started acting kinder. But still… but still he'd held on to the  _ stupid  _ hope that Dorian was trying to be nicer for… for him. 

The longer he heard Dorian go on shouting and ranting, the more he wanted to strangle him, to make him realize what he was  _ saying-  _ Virgil didn't even want to think about  _ what _ he was shouting, already petrified from anger at his brother and himself. (How could he have been so naive?) But Patton spotted him, and he shook his head. Patton wanted him to stay quiet. Virgil- he yearned to scream at Dorian, but... Patton wanted him to stay quiet. He knew why. Dorian could redirect his rage at him, could turn him into smithereens with his words. 

So he stayed silent, even when his nails came back stained from his palms, the red mixing with the grime.  

Later on, Patton would say that it was okay. It had happened for some time now- three quarters of a year- and he could handle it. Dorian was just being mean, it was just words, he shouldn't worry. 

They fought for the first time. 

But Patton got his way. 

~

A year later, Dorian threw a long, loud and politically motivated party to celebrate Virgil’s thirteenth birthday. 

While Dorian wrote invitations and prepared for himself and Virgil to attend as many events as possible beforehand, Patton had to work himself to the bone, fourteen, and two weeks away from turning fifteen. (He knew that Virgil would prepare a little party for him, like last year, he had to concentrate on that, not the  _ ludicrous _ list of complaints Dorian had.  _ Focus on the good. Positive thoughts, don't snap now, don't be stupid _ .)

The oldest boy- now eighteen, technically a man- still kept himself busy, even when all his tasks were done, making a hobby out of mentioning the nobles Virgil should associate with most, the flaws in his etiquette and his mannerisms and how he should act instead, because Virgil was getting older now, it was time for him to make a few connections himself! Therefore, the now-teenager had no right to complain when he was spread so thin that he couldn't even exchange any words with Patton after doing his assigned part of the housework. Because Dorian smiled and ruffled his hair as young Lords and Ladies traversed the Manor and gave Patton even more work, apparently unaware that their chaos wouldn't clean up itself. Dorian was satisfied with him -as long as he listened- so he should be satisfied too. He should just pull through, serve his family, quit whining.

Virgil managed to keep himself silent as to avoid disappointing his brother, even when he wanted nothing more than to scream. He laughed and said nothing while using too many words. 

It may be an atrocious affair, but it would be over soon, he reminded himself. (Until Dorian chose the next social function for him to attend, the next noble for him to “charm.") 

He smiled until it didn't even hurt anymore, until he felt so detached from what he said that he couldn't even hate it anymore. 

Dorian noticed when the life left Virgil’s eyes, but held back the urge to call the whole feast off and take his baby brother to hide him from the world. They had to keep face, had to keep the reputation he had built up over the last three years, his work could not be for naught. 

So he kept his cool, even as the frustration about  **everything** boiled. He tried to focus on how proud he was of Virgil for trying so hard and doing so well, but he was so angry and- he bit his tongue to keep himself from slipping. 

He didn't blame himself, when he finally snapped. The shards were scattered on the floor and Patton had already moved to pick it up,  _ but that didn't fix his mistake _ . 

“You idiot! You fucking  _ imbecile _ , how can you be so incredibly stupid?! Can't you do one thing right? No, of course not, because then you'd have to actually  _ try  _ for once!-”

“Dorian, it was an accident-”

“No! You shut up, Virgil, I don't care about what you think- you've embarrassed myself enough tonight, I don't even want to  _ see _ you right now...” 

Dorian was self-aware enough to try and leave.

A duke was just going through the door, exchanging an amused look with another noble when they heard the ruckus while exiting the Manor where the birthday party had been held. Adolescents…

But Virgil wouldn't let him, too apathetic and angry to care. 

“No! You- You have me be at your- your beck and call  _ all the time _ , and you're still  **never** happy with what I do- and then you-you scream at Patton because  _ I  _ disappoint you-”

Dorian scoffed before Virgil could continue. “Don't tell me you still care for that vermin.” He cocked his head in Patton’s direction.

“Don't talk about him like that! He's- He's so much- so much  _ better  _ than you ever are, and you treat him like shit!”

“ _ I  _ can treat my servants how I want to! Because  _ I  _ am the head of this household! And just because  **I** let _ you _ have certain- liberties, does  **not** mean that you have any say in how  _ I  _ act!” 

Virgil tried to speak, but his mouth clamped shut as Dorian stalked towards him, trembling with poorly-controlled anger.  

“Just because you're my brother doesn't mean you're not also under  _ my  _ command. This is my house, my county- mine! And you are to do as I say,  _ no matter what I say _ .”

Before Virgil could fight the fear that kept him frozen in place, Patton spoke up. 

“That's not how ruling works. Or… it's not how it should work -”

“Shut up, houseboy, no one cares for what you have to say,” Dorian hissed, and Patton was almost silenced, moral arguments already dying on his tongue, the only thing he'd dare defy already moving out of reach, but- 

“I do.” 

The whisper was encouragement enough. Patton gave a shaky smile in Virgil’s direction, his voice wobbly as he spoke.

“You- You should try and do the best for your people, your county, but… for that you need their help. You're not always the- the best one to figure something out, so -”

“You wanna tell me I don't know what's best? That I'm unfit for my position? Do you have any idea- I could throw you out for that sentence alone!”

“But you won't.” Patton didn't know where his sudden courage came from, but he was too afraid to care. He didn't even flinch when Dorian grabbed his collar, only feared for Virgil as the teenager screamed. 

“You  _ stupid _ \- don't you know when it's enough? Do you  _ want  _ to make me this angry?” Dorian’s face distorted with his fury. “I'm not an angry- a violent person. You're forcing me to do this!- Acting like an insolent little  _ brat. _ ”

The world blurred as his step-brother pushed him against the wall, the back of his head thrumming. 

“Let him  **go!”** Virgil screamed, magic distorting his voice as it cursed through him, tickling his finger with sparks instead of smoke. 

Nails dug into Patton’s shoulders and he couldn't even think of muffling his groan. “Remember your place, Virgil.” His voice was so tight, only a matter of time until he'd snap. Patton’s head hit the wall again. 

“A mage serves his family, remember?” 

He didn't see him shake his head, didn't see his tears as flames began to cover his shaking fists. 

Again. 

“Please,” he whimpered, begged. 

Dorian sighed, turning, forcing Patton with him by the hair. “See, this'll be your fault now.” He moved to throw Patton into a pedestal with a too sharp edge and an easy to break vase holding one single, pale rose on top of it. 

“ **NO!”**

Virgil jumped forward, fists ablaze, one hand grabbing his brother's right arm to try and stop him, the other landing flat on his face.  He moved his hand to grab Dorian’s hair when he instantly lost his grip on his face. The stench of burned flesh reached him only a moment later, with his brother's screams. 

He flinched back, fear replacing fury. 

Patton had robbed away, blanch, save for a tinge of green. 

Dorian cried, but it didn't take away from his anger. He'd burned through the jacket, shirt and skin, the wound growing thanks to the fabric that so quickly caught fire. He cried, the tears running over the mess of skin and burn. It didn't even really look like his face anymore. Virgil felt sick, swallowing the vomit rising up.  

There were still little strands of hair, probably infesting the wounds on the side of his head, he thought duly. 

Dorian tried to speak, to scream, but it only made the pain worse, ending in a wail. His knees buckled, as if his body only now thought to react. 

Virgil darted forward, tears blurring his vision, but Dorian hissed at him. “Go. Go be with- with your servant. If I ever see you… using magic again- I'll kill you,” he wheezed, eyes closing, more tears escaping, sobs catching in his throat. “I’ll kill you,” he promised again. His whole body heaved with pain, but Virgil backed away. He looked at Patton for- for help, for anything, but the older one avoided his gaze as he slowly went to help Dorian, moving as if through jelly. Virgil watched, wanting to help- but he couldn't. Healing wasn't… he couldn't heal. He couldn't do anything right. He'd destroyed everything. The one thing he was, that was significant about him, and he'd fucked it all up...

~

Patton helped Dorian with his wounds, holding back his own tears as the young man cried and whimpered and screamed and begged for it to stop. He wasn't equipped for this- but he had to pull through. His hands shook, he poured water down his throat, afraid he did everything wrong, but he couldn't leave Dorian alone right now, and… he didn't want to approach Virgil. 

He'd never thought of magic as a weapon. . 

Seeing it's effects, he wished he'd never had to. 

It was terrifying- he was terrified! 

But Dorian was needing his help. Patton wouldn't admit it, but he was secretly relieved  he did, because it made it easier to avoid the chaos in his mind. Made it easier to avoid how Virgil tortured himself with his guilt. Made it easier to ignore the fear that had settled in his stomach when thinking of his little step-brother. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, this came a week later than I wanted it to. I'm sorry, but I couldn't really write last weekend, only until the beginning of the Argument, and then I needed three days until I finally wrote the damn thing, because writer's block sucks, and general editing..so, in short, I'm sorry for the delay, please comment or leave kudos, it makes my day! <3


	4. Chapter 4

Virgil almost slept, eyes drooping already, but as soon as he closed his eyes- as soon as his cramped muscles began to hesitantly relax, as soon as his drowsiness dismissed his fears- the air grew tense, his control slippped-

The purple fog encased him, an embrace that used to comfort him now making desperate tears- he tried to swallow them,  _ really _ \- fill his eyes. He almost screamed in frustration. His mind was fuzzy with fatigue and frazzled with nerves. He knew that Dorian wouldn't see, but- why couldn't he manage to do the one thing Dorian had asked of him? He'd messed up so much, had hurt his brother so badly, but his control still slipped, even though he knew-  _ knew- _ that he had to do- to  _ be _ better! How could he be so stupid, so moronic and useless, such a nuisance? He couldn't swallow the cotton stuffing his throat. His cheeks were wet. His nails dug so deeply into his arms that it hurt. But- he couldn't… He couldn't do this this. He couldn't- if he failed at even the simplest of tasks, the least he ought to do was apologize. His trembling limbs made it hard to stand up, but he managed. He had to manage. The fog dissipated slowly, but it did. He had to- to not be a nuisance. At least for once. 

Dorian’s door wasn't locked. Virgil only knocked when he remembered how much his brother hated to be surprised, but it didn't  help his brother's anger. 

Patton was downstairs, probably washing the bandages for Dorian’s wounds. They had to be changed frequently, Virgil had learned, in short sentences directed at him while eyes that used to be warm gazed at the floor or the walls, anything but his face. 

His apologizes got stuck in his throat when Dorian glared at him. He was intimidating. Half his face being covered with bandages didn't change that, being propped up on half a million pillows and reeking like he hadn't bathed in the week since… Virgil’s birthday feast didn't change that. It felt like nothing would ever change that. Dorian hissed now, didn't snarl anymore.

“What do you want?” 

Virgil flinched at the harsh tone, like he always did, but- he had to apologize and explain, even though his mind was fuzzy with his lack of sleep. 

“I- I had to- I wanted to apologize,” he began. “Because, I try, I really do! But I can't- I can't stop it, it's… I can't make it go away, and I know I should, and I try, I really do, but I- I can't, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I’m so sorry for everything,” he cried, “and it was all my fault, and I shouldn't ha- have doubted you, and I'm so sorry, and you'll never forgive me, but I can't- I'm trying so hard to suppress it,, really! But I  _ can't _ , and I'm so sorry, please.. Please don't throw me out,” he whimpered from his curled-in position.  

“You- you're still using magic?” Dorian tried not to sound hurt, but most of him didn't see the reason to. Virgil had hurt him, so why not take an eye for an eye? (He couldn't really see through his left one anymore and didn't know if he ever would again.)

Virgil nodded. He didn't even try to stop his tears. Part of Dorian worried that his nails would pierce his shirt, worried about how upset Virgil was. 

“I try not to, but it just… comes out,” he whispered, so quietly it was hard to hear. 

Dorian lacked the energy to be angry anymore, or disappointed, or anything but drained. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. Was that so much to ask?

“Isn't there… some way to shut it off? Permanently?” 

“I- I don't…”

Eyes fitting over the floor. Patience running out. Desperation returning, tinging Dorian’s voice. 

“Think, Virgil,  _ please _ . I need you to  _ never _ use your magic again. Or... I'll have to call the Royal Guard.”

Startled,  _ betrayed  _ stare meeting a cold eye hiding fear with adamance. If he failed to play his cards right, he could be burnt again. He could die this time. 

“You… I'm sorry, Virgil, but... you've left me no choice.”

He had to live, to stay alive and in control, no matter the cost. 

“I… there might be a way, I think,” Virgil murmured in reply, trying to swallow the new tears rising up. His sleeves were wet already, but he still tried to wipe the new, oncoming signs of weakness away. 

“I… I could enchant something, anything, and as long as it- as I wear it, I couldn't… I'd be cut off.” 

The thought made Virgil shudder. His magic was  _ his _ , was as much  _ him _ as everything else, probably more. It was all he'd ever been. But he couldn't disappoint Dorian again. And he'd done so much damage already… he was afraid of being confined to a cell, of being interrogated and locked away and judged and declared guilty of his crimes, of meeting his just punishment. 

“Okay. Good, Virgil, good-” Dorian took off one of the rings still on his fingers. The yellow, imperial topaz gleamed in the light. “Take this one, just take it, and- and cast whatever spell you need on it, now… finished? Okay. Put it on, now- NOW!” 

Fingers curled around Virgil’s shoulders,  painful in their harshness. He didn't dare complain, the ring already taking what was  _ his _ away from him, to never return, as far as he knew. Dorian fell back on his bed, face carefully blank. His eyes still glittered with unshed, relieved tears. 

“You have to promise to never take this ring off, okay? You promise me?” 

“Yes. I- I promise.” 

How could he be sure? 

“Good, you're- you're a good kid, Virgie. And.. And I'm sure you'll learn your lesson, right?”

Nodding, so fast it had to blur his vision. Dorian couldn't read the signs of regret on Virgil’s face anymore. He didn't find them again, found only the feeling of burnt flesh. How could he be sure? He wanted to not be afraid of fire any longer. He had to be in control. 

“Okay, good… but, until I'm sure you learned from your mistakes, and won't- won't question me ever again… I can't have… you can't be part of- of our family, not… not if you're… not with you acting the way you did. I'm sorry Virgie, believe me- you-you believe me, don't you? Tell me you believe me!” 

“Yes- yes, I believe you, I believe you! Please-”

The shaking stopped. Virgil could breathe again. His sight had turned watery again. His crouching made him even smaller than usual. Dorian usually loved teasing him about that. 

“Good. That's good Virgie, that's- that's the first step,” he hesitantly smiled, "But still… until I'm sure it's… safe, you will assist Patton with the housework. I will lock off the library and your room until you've earned access to them again... We won't eat together until you've learnt not to disobey me. Okay? You get that?” 

Dorian heard his heartbeat echo in his ears. 

“Yes… Yes, sir.” 

The title was added before Dorian could even raise his voice. The older one smiled, relief painted on his face. He was safe again. 

“Great- this will only be temporary, don't worry, Virgil. But… I have to make sure something like this won't happen again. You get that, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

The ring was heavy on Virgil’s left ring finger. 

“And you won't take your ring off, under no circumstances whatsoever, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Like a weight dragging him to the deepest parts of the sea, where all his words turned into bubbles of air.

“Good. You can go now... I'm proud of you, Virgie.”

“Okay.”

Like no matter what he said, how much he shouted, he'd never be heard again. 

He reminded himself that this was only temporary, only a matter of time until he would be Dorian’s brother again. He knew it was a lie. But there was no purple fog to comfort him, to lift him out of the water.

So he held on to the empty words, even if they dragged him even deeper into the ocean.

~ 

The light in the study was low, and Prince Logan knew that it was bound to impair his sight, but he only inched further towards the scrolls in front if him. His studies held him in a death grip of obsession he couldn't even build up the wish to escape from. 

Part of him yearned for Roman to make fun of him, to pull him from his studies for some “quality bonding time" as he called it, but that was always the case nowadays. No matter how deeply he buried himself in his studies, he couldn't help missing his brother, couldn't help studying the monsters Roman fought alongside the Royal Guard, couldn't help writing too long letters about the advisable courses of action when facing them, couldn't help hating the distance separating them. 

But he knew better than to whine about his fate. 

Both he and Roman were on their paths to earning their titles now, as all heirs to the throne were once they reached their fifteenth birthday. And Logan made sure to learn all he could, finally able to attempt quenching his thirst for knowledge. He'd been taught thoroughly since he was a child, of course, but it'd always been broken up by awful festivities he could never manage to escape from. There were few times he'd ever been grateful for Roman’s dramatic disposition, but those clusters of gaiety were one of them. 

Really, it shouldn't have surprised anyone when Roman joined the Royal Guard, or when he fit in so easily. The Prince had always been one for the action instead of the theory Logan himself had taken to like a fish to the water. 

He'd almost forgotten the look of his lodgings already, spending the days at lectures and study groups and the evenings as well as the nights and most mornings in the library, trying to absorb as much knowledge as he could.  It didn't even matter if the information was relevant after a while- the university shared it's library with the Schrastow Family, which acted as the main patron of the facility, very few people knew that, but Logan did. He worried about the family using it's position to filter the knowledge the students had access to, so he always made sure to distribute his sources to at least two other collections he knew for sure were impartial. 

There was just so much to learn and to accomplish. He couldn't waste one single second!

He'd admittedly forgotten when exactly sleep had turned into a luxury instead of a basic need. Just like he'd forgotten when grades had turned into judgement of his character instead of his performance. Or how he'd forgotten when he stopped responding to Roman’s letters, too harried to even read them some of the time. 

But he had to progress, had to  _ learn _ .

Everything else could be left behind. 

~

It was Roman’s sixteenth birthday, but no letter came. 

The Prince was aware that the messenger could be delayed, that Logan was without a doubt super busy at his fancy university, that it was no big deal, in the grand scheme of things. 

But it'd been  _ two months _ since Logan had written to him, and he'd… he had desperately hoped that, at least for their birthday, Logan would break his silence. Roman didn't even know what he'd done wrong, why Logan had decided to stop responding to him. A sinister part of him imagined all the new friends Logan had made, all of them serious and stuffy and way more intelligent than he. -It wasn't that Roman thought he was dumb, he knew he wasn't, he was the picture of intelligence and wit, he'd proclaim to anyone who asked him, but… well, street smarts weren't like book learning, and even though the King had seen to him being taught all he'd missed and then some, the letters never stopped moving on the page, never stopped evading him whenever he tried to read or write. He'd never admit how much time he spent on the letters he sent to Logan, making sure that every word was written correctly, almost ripping out his  _ wonderful _ hair when he found a mistake just a second too late, the messenger already on it's way, painfully aware that there were some he was still unaware of. 

He was only lucky that Logan didn't tease him about it in his replies, written in one go and without any difficulty, if Roman knew anything about his brother. 

Imagine his surprise when he eventually found out that Logan had spent his sixteenth birthday alone and unaware of the date, bent over an ancient tomb, his muscles cramped and coiled, so painfully close to snapping and shattering into a thousand pieces. Imagine Roman’s surprise when he was told that, upon receiving his gift by a messenger that had failed to find him in lodgings he'd forgotten the way to, Logan broke. Because Logan had forgotten, he'd failed to write Roman a letter or buy him a present, he had three exams to study for still and two essays to finish, one was still waiting to be revised, he hadn't slept for a full night in what felt like years and he was so hungry and tired and such a failure that he could only heave. He almost threw up his last meal. His swirling thoughts only served to cut him into smaller pieces as he sat alone. The messenger was already gone. 

It was pure luck that Remy was in the library at that time, slurping some half-cursed over-caffeinated concoction. It was pure luck that they found Logan and asked him what was wrong, rubbing his back and cringing at how tense the man was. It was pure luck that Logan leaned into them, too exhausted to refuse any kind of comfort, the usually so closed-off boy opening up with minimal prompting. He couldn't even curse himself for it, when Remy brought him out to eat the next day and gave him a look that could've murdered Cthylla herself when Logan tried to refuse.

Logan, rather unexpectedly, quickly found Remy’s snappy comments an unexpected ray of clarity when his thoughts turned obtuse, not that he'd ever admit that. Remy, rather unexpectedly, quickly found Logan's way of explaining their coursework superior to their teacher's, not that they'd ever admit that. 

They both, rather unexpectedly, quickly became best friends, not that either one would ever admit that.

~ 

Patton knew that, technically, Virgil was dangerous. He knew that, because he still cared for the burn Virgil had caused and still had nightmares involving the awful purple fire he had used. But he also knew that Virgil didn't sleep in his room anymore, instead opting for using his doublet as a blanket and the floor as a mattress. 

He heard him sometimes, when the younger boy had just woken up from a nightmare, his breathing still too fast and heavy, desperately trying to calm down. 

And Patton may be scared, but Virgil was too, so why couldn't they at least be scared together? 

~ 

Virgil had believed that, at least the ring would make the nightmares stop. Because he couldn't use his magic anymore, so why should he be scared of hurting anyone with his magic? It didn't make any sense, so it shouldn't happen and he should get over it. But it could never be that easy, could it? 

It really couldn't, apparently, he thought to himself, with a tinge of hysteria. Because he was sitting pressed to the wallpaper, every breath an impossible feat with his thoughts racing around the same issues, in the same way, again and again and again. 

Which was  _ stupid _ . Because he had no time to waste, especially not on his silly little outbreaks of  _ ridiculous paranoia _ . 

Shoes shuffling towards him. 

Virgil jolted, head hitting the wall behind him. “What- What do you want?” he squeaked, turning red at the break in his voice. 

“Don't worry, it's just me,” Patton soothed, a strained smile on his face. He had his arms raised, palms up, walking slowly, as if Virgil was an easily startled animal. The younger boy only watched as Patton sat down next to him, careful not to invade his personal space but still be near. 

“I, uhm, thought that you could use someone to talk to, kiddo,” Patton tried again, wearing his best impression of the sooting smile his mother used to give him. Virgil shrugged, evading his gaze. 

“There's not that much, man. Just… thinking, you know.”

‘No, I don't!’ Patton wanted to curse, ‘because you're not telling me what's wrong.’ “That's a pretty cool ring,” he said instead, carefully looking ahead, letting himself relax against the wall he sat before. 

Virgil blinked at the sudden change in topic, but answered anyway. “I guess,” he muttered, unable to fake any cheer. He saw the yellow topaz gleam and glow with magic that should be his. Would've been his, had he not acted without thinking, throwing all caution to the wind like an  _ imbecile _ . 

“It sparkles all the time, that's super neat, right?” Patton tried again, not knowing or caring if he was trying to lure Virgil out of his shell or attempting to get rid of some of the silence always filling the house, deafening him with its constancy. 

“Maybe? I… it's not really my thing,” Virgil murmured. His throat closed up against his will, angry with the mere idea of voicing his silly complaints, almost expecting his brother to jump out of the next corner and reprimand him for his audacity. 

But it was Patton who answered him. Patton, who wasn't angry with him. 

“Yeah? You sure that's it, kiddo?”

Virgil tried to swallow the words that wanted to stumble out, yearning to be heard. He tried. Really! But he failed. 

“I… it's not just- it keeps me from my magic.” The younger boy closed his eyes, feeling himself flinch. He shouldn't have said that, should've stayed silent, should've kept his stupid mouth shut, should've known better, shouldn't even have considered confiding in- 

Patton laid a hand on his arm, all of him nice and warm and careful. “That doesn't sound very pleasant,” he said, still a calming presence against Virgil’s side, still encouraging him to continue, never coercing him, never reprimanding him for his lack of gratitude and respect. The younger boy shrugged before replying. 

“I just… I feel how it's missing.” He hadn't planned for his voice to sound so dull. “I feel how it takes the magic that should be mine… but… but it's not a big deal!” He smiled, but it was crooked in the wrong way. It was easy to let go, easy to slide off his face. “It's just so I won't hurt anyone again. Dorian will allow me to take it off when he thinks I've learned my lesson, I'm sure…” He didn't mention how thankful he should be that he was even allowed to still live in the house. “So it's okay.” Because he wasn't, and he knew it was wrong if him. 

Patton frowned. He doubted Dorian would ever allow Virgil to use magic again. But he wouldn't pry, not when the kiddo was so upset. “We'll, until then, you can stay with me.”

“Thank you, Pat.”

A shy smile was met with an exuberant one.

“Of course, kiddo!” Patton threw an arm around Virgil, hugging him from the side. “Anything for- my favourite brother.” 

Part of Virgil wanted to make a snide remark, wanted to say that Dorian wasn't much competition in this case. But he couldn't help fixating on being Patton’s brother, not just the leftover of his father's second marriage, but a brother, someone he trusted and cared for, at least a little. He hummed instead of saying any of that. It was non-committal enough. 

Patton tugged Virgil against his side and the younger had no issue at all relaxing against him. 

They heard a grandfather clock tick a few floors away. Their breathing was the only other thing interrupting the stillness. It felt peaceful, for once, not like the prelude to an attack. 

Patton vowed to try and care for his little brother. Dorian had disowned him in all but name. The boy needed family he could count on, no matter the circumstances. 

That same moment Virgil swore to himself to do all he could to repay Patton’s kindness, to prove his worth, even without his magic.  

~ 

Patton watched Dorian’s expression as he relieved the older one of his coat, just keeping himself from wincing at his sour expression. 

“Really, you should've seen that old hag, I cannot believe that she's a Duchess with such an attitude, honestly! It came across as if she hadn't been taught any manners in her entire life- if I didn't know any better, I'd think of her as as some brainless bastard, probably the daughter of a provincial peasant too…” 

Dorian groaned, the dinner he'd just attended still annoying him to no end. That damned wench had hated him after just one look, he knew it! He'd been the picture of charm and sophistication, just as always, but she'd acted as if he was nothing but a child! 

“There's tea in the sitting room, sir,” Patton interrupted his thoughts, a calming smile on his face. Were it anyone else, Dorian might've appreciated the effort. As it was, he only nodded, giving his servant a few orders on how to handle his coat- it was embroidered with  _ gold _ , it should be treated as such- before heading to his sitting room, muttering to himself all the way. 

Really, that old hag of a character should've been delighted with his presence, or at least faked amusement; he was an important enough figure!

Virgil had just fled the room when Dorian came in, falling down on his green, overtly soft armchair with much more drama than necessary. He continued glowering as soon as he'd crossed his legs, taking his cup to try and calm himself with a bit of tea. 

He'd love to spill it, if he was honest, would love to spill the tea on that whole group of annoyances with someone he could trust. But friendships at court were a fragile thing and he'd never be so brash as to interrupt the dance of pleasantries with the graceless  _ hobbling _ of the truth. 

The only one he could possibly turn to would be a spouse. Marriage had a funny way of forcing people to rely on each other. But he was too young, and there was no one he'd be able to handle for a lifetime in his circles. 

He decidedly ignored how there was a ring less on his fingers, how usually there would be someone else chiming in, how heavy the key around his neck suddenly turned. It was of no importance. None at all. He was perfectly content. Only bummed with one spoiled dinner. 

It didn't matter. He was happy, he wasn't afraid, he was in control. 

His hands were just shaking with exhaustion. His throat was just dry because he'd talked so much today. His eyes were only misty because- because- because he was… he was only tired. 

Sleep would resolve everything, he was sure. 

~ 

Virgil could see Dorian move upstairs, swaying already. His brother wasn't okay, that much was clear, but… Dorian had never appreciated it when he brought up something before, now that would only be amplified, he was sure. Patton needed him. 

The work around the house wasn't as overwhelming if it was split, but it still left them sore and hungry, bags constantly etched onto their faces. 

Virgil admired Patton’s ability to smile through all that, to keep his mood up even when he had to show Virgil how to do something menial for the hundredth time because he'd always relied on his magic before. 

“You need any help?” he asked, looking at the pile of cups, glasses and plates in the sink, towering and never seeming to shrink, even with the hours of work they put into making it smaller. 

Patton gave an affirmative hum and  Virgil grabbed a towel to dry and then put away everything that Patton cleaned. 

“You think that you can manage the laundry tomorrow?”

An affirmative hum. “I'll manage. Any reason?”

“Just… I haven't had any time to take care of Mom's roses, and I don't want them to wither away!”

“Mh-mh, yeah, I get that.” 

Virgil asked some questions about Patton’s roses, enjoying the meaningless chatter. It was just enough to stop his thoughts from straying from their paths, to keep himself anchored to reality instead of beginning to drown. 

Patton had that effect on him. It was easy for the older one to keep his mind from spiralling, to stop him from playing with his ring, almost taking it off sometimes. He didn't even mind repaying Patton for his kindness. It was easier than with… with Dorian. The thought alone made him gulp, even though he knew that his… that Dorian was already asleep. He had nothing to fear, there weren't any more impossible expectations on him, no more twisted truths. 

It felt like treason, but if Virgil was honest, he found himself preferring the brother that chose him to the one he was bound to by blood and duty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am here again! And have come with a disproportionately short chapter!   
> Don't worry, the next one is already planned and should be longer.   
> And, yeah. This chapter was... something to write. At the very least I'm happy with the outcome, even if it went against ANY AND ALL PLANNING. 
> 
> Thanks for your comments and your patience, please tell me what you think or leave kudos, it literally makes my day! <3


	5. Chapter 5

“Are you really sure, ma'am?” Thomas asked again, trying not to show his fraying nerves. He should know better than to directly question the Queen, _especially_ since he'd become her menté just one years ago, being favoured over the actual _Crown Prince_. It may have been known that his uncle held no desire to inherit the crown, but the gesture still placed a greater amount of responsibilities and expectations on Thomas than he felt he could handle.

“Of course I am, I wouldn't have commanded for it to happen if I wasn't,” his grandmother waved him off. “Besides, it's a tradition that's been followed for hundreds of years and served our family well.”

The Queen was just about finished with this silly argument, trusting her eldest grandchild to acquiesce, so they could move on to more important matters. Disappointments were, sadly enough, a part of life.

“But I don't think that Roman or Logan are ready for that yet- I mean no disrespect, but can't we just celebrate their return, without trying to force some noble on them?” Thomas chuckled, trying to hide his anxiety. Challenging his Queen seldom brought good results.

Miranda sighed before looking up. “It’s tradition, Thomas. It's a tradition that’s been followed for generations, that allowed your father to marry his wife, even if her title was the only good thing about her.” She changed the topic before Thomas could try to defend his mother, “Besides, they don't _have_ to marry whoever they choose. God knows you didn't…”

The Prince flinched at the slight. He knew that she was still mad at him for holding not marrying Joan, even if Thomas had found the Viscounty to have become his greatest friend. Three days of festivities just weren't enough to find someone one would genuinely want to _marry._ And Thomas was aware of the duties a Prince had to fulfill to his kingdom, but his brothers deserved more than an arranged marriage disguised as a result of true love.

“I'm just saying that it's a lot of pressure to put on them, especially when they're just coming back,” he muttered. Miranda had to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

“They're the Princes of this kingdom, they  should be able to deal with some pressure.” Her disdain had Thomas feeling like he was much younger than he was. “Now get to planning these balls, before I call Gaight to do it,” she commanded, satisfied when Thomas deflated.

“Yes, I'll get to it, ma'am.”

She nodded in approval, offering a quirk of lips that could be interpreted as a smile.

“Wonderful. Now, I hope you have read up on the Williams family?”

~

“How am I supposed to know?” Logan demanded.

“I don't know, _who_ spent the last nine years hopping from university to library to… other places where lots of pretentious smart people get together?” Roman returned, waving his hand and wincing slightly. At least they were alone in the carriage, with no one to notice his momentary lack of grace. Logan rolled his eyes, but his smirk betrayed him.

“Well, I haven't studied any magics. There's no need.”

“You're just sulky because they didn't accept you,” Roman grinned, glad for every excuse to tease his twin.

“Am _not!”_

“So are!”

“You have no idea what you're talking about…” Logan crossed his arms to keep himself from smacking the other man.

“I _so_ do! They rejected you faster than I could slay a nokken!” Roman carried on, blissfully unaware.  

“Falsehood!”

Roman laughed at his brother's outburst. Seemed like all those years studying hadn't helped his temper one bit. Logan blushed abruptly, trying to righten his jerkin and regain his calm.  

“Anyway…,” he coughed, “I don’t know, or care, if I'm honest, whether a normal person would be able to use an enchanted mirror, or even what thread of conversation led us to this _senseless_ question,” Logan said, trying to reclaim his calm. “But nevertheless,” he continued, before Roman could get a word in, “there are indisputably more important matters to tend to-"

“Yeah, like what you're gonna do at the ball,” Roman grinned, propping himself up on his knees, a sharp contrast to his brother's straight and proper posture.

“Please, I'm able to handle some small talk.”

Roman’s teasing grin only widened when Logan rolled his eyes.

“Yeah? ‘Cause these poor, ignorant people,” Roman gestured with his hand and many more dramatics than necessary, highlighting his already obvious sarcasm, “won't know about any of your fancy star mumbo jumbo- don't even _pretend_ that you wanna talk about law, specs. We both know you hate that with the power of three- no, _seven_ burning suns.”

“Well, it's needed, especially if I want to become any kind of help to Thomas once he inherits the throne,” Logan muttered between pursed lips. He still felt slightly guilty for the amount of time he'd dedicated to the study of the stars as well as science, chemistry and alchemy above all else. Reminding himself of one of Remy’s _many_ tirades about exactly that unfounded feeling of guilt fortunately managed to dispel it quite quickly, though.

“He still has time,” Roman waved his hand, “the more important question is if _you_ need **me** to teach you how to _Socialise_.”

“I don't think that extra flourish was necessary-”

“A heathen, Logan! To question my _flawless_ charms you must be a heathen, there's no other way!” If he kept it up, Logan's eyes would soon get stuck at the back of his head.

“Of course. What a tragedy,” he deadpanned. Roman graced him with an offended look before sticking his nose in the air, falling down onto the carriage seats, all the while making all kinds of offended noises between pieces of poetic whining. Seemed like all those years fighting monsters hadn't done anything to help him reign in his dramatics.  

“Are you quite finished?”

“Slander! Nothing but mockery and cruelty to greet me as I stand here, having saved countless damsels in distress and bachelors in a bind, like the proper Knight I am! And yet- no cheers or parades to thank me for carrying out my duties- no songs to tell of my heroic deeds, fulfilling my duty silent and humble, never once asking for anything!” Roman was almost falling off the seats at this point, one hand at his forehead, the other over his heart, eyes closed as he got lost in his ramblings. Logan just kept himself from groaning, instead pinching his nose.

“Roman, please,” he tried, but his brother didn't even spare him a glance. Logan was already regretting having chosen to spend the weeks long journey back home with him.

Roman’s mask was slowly beginning to crack at seeing his brother's obvious annoyance and chuckles escaped him, an opportunity Logan jumped at, quick to mock the other, easily smirking at his offended shrieking. As their arguing grew more heated, his regret began to subside. Only slightly, of course. Roman would find out somehow if he enjoyed this trip too much and he was not ready to pay a price so dear.

~

“Just imagine it! I heard the gardens are filled with all kinds of flowers, some of them were presents to the Queen, and she made sure that they'd survive even if it wasn't warm or sunny enough, and they're all still alive, and it's supposed to look like a paradise on earth, and,” Patton looked in the distance, a dazed look in his eyes, without a doubt imagining the Royal gardens, the invitation to the Royal Celebrations of the Princes’ Return still in his hands. “I'd give _everything_ to see it… just imagine it, Virge! There'll be all kinds of people, and everyone’s gonna be havin’ a great old time, and…”

Patton sighed as he caught himself, smile turning bitter. “Heh, listen to me being silly, like we could ever go...”

“Hey, maybe- maybe I could try talking with Dorian? I'm sure I could get him to let you go,” Virgil tried to reassure him. Patton had seemed so happy, so genuinely happy just a second ago, he couldn't bear seeing it disappear so quickly.

Patton laughed, but it lacked it's usual humour. “Thanks Virge, but he wouldn't let a servant go with him, let's be honest,” he gulped, “I shouldn't even have thought of it, really. It's silly, and stupid, and it… it won't ever happen.” Virgil almost screamed. He knew that he wouldn't be able to cheer Patton up. Patton was the happy one, the one who knew how to deal with emotions, not Virgil. But still, Patton should be allowed to go, if only for just one evening.

For the first time in almost forever Virgil strengthened his resolve. He'd get Patton to that ball.

~

“What do you want,” Dorian hissed, not even bothering to look up. He sat bent over his papers, hair mussed with how often he'd tried to get it to stay out of his face.

“Just… I just wanna talk.”

Virgil almost laughed when his brother startled, eyes narrowing at the now-twenty-year-old man. It took him a second to find his resolve, to curl his lips in disapproval and annoyance, for the part of him worrying about Virgil’s dirty, patched-up clothing and filthy face to shut up.

“Virgil… take a seat. What do you want?”

The younger complied, wringing his hands. A habit he'd picked up from Patton.

“Just talk. Like I said,” he muttered. He had to do this carefully. Dorian knew he was lying, at least to some degree, but decided to play along, for now at least. He had to use this chance.

“Well, what do you want to talk about?”

“The Princes will return in a few weeks…”

“Yes. The celebration is already on everyone's mind.”

“Mh-hm. Which one are you gonna try?” Dorian blinked. He hadn't expected Virgil to get to the point so quickly.

“Roman. I've heard he's quite interested in the arts, and he'd be gone with the Royal Guard often enough if he turns out to be a bore,” he said, opting to let Virgil get to whatever point he wanted to.

“Yeah?” A slight smile Dorian wouldn't admit he'd missed. “I guessed I'd be him. There's gonna be a lot of other nobles trying to get to him as well, though.”

Dorian scowled, looking at Virgil with searching eyes. “Of course there will. Do you think I'm an imbecile?”

“No, of course not! Just… even you are gonna have problems charming him if some gold-diggers try pushing you away every four seconds.” Dorian hadn't thought of his brother as sly ever before, but time seemed to have taught him some things.

“So? What are you _proposing_?”

Virgil shrugged, a smirk on his face to hide his nerves. “My help. We both know I have my ways to ensure the Prince looks only at you.” He waved his hand, seemingly nonchalantly letting the yellow topaz shimmer in the light. “Only if you're interested, of course,” he smiled, impossibly smug, hearing his heartbeat echo in his ears, trying not to be disgusted at himself.

Dorian scoffed. “How could I trust you? The last time I let you use your magic freely, it cost me half my face,” he hissed, but his eyes gleamed with an interest that betrayed his words.

“What could I do? There are gonna be guards everywhere, and one word from you could get me incarcerated for exactly that. And… you know that I regret what I did. I… I was _dumb_ , and emotional and too young to know better. You were,” Virgil paused, eyes closed for a second, the words hard to get out, despite everything, “you were only doing your duty as a Lord, and I shouldn't have ever thought of questioning you.”

“This is my way of apologizing, of trying to make it up to you. Please- let me repent for what I did, Dori.” He hadn't used the nickname since their mother’s funeral, since Dorian had become an authority instead of a brother. Dorian used to hate it so much, but that had only led to Virgil using it even more, back then. The older one looked at his papers, carding a hand through his bangs. They both had their mother's hair, dark and sleek and pretty.

“I want to trust you, Virgil,” he admitted. “You’re my brother, no matter what you did.” Both their noses were long and crooked, a trait from their father's side.

“I know. And I'm gonna prove it to you. Just trust me, okay?” The years had carved out both their cheeks, making the family resemblance even more obvious.

Dorian sighed. “Okay. Okay... I'm gonna trust you with this, for now. Please don't disappoint me,” he pleaded. With the goal seeming so close, he could admit, to himself at least, how much he'd missed his brother.

“Never again. But… there's one other thing.” The one difference that'd stayed were the eyes. Dorian’s were a mirror of their mother’s, cold and cunning, even if hers had never been as frigid. Virgil wouldn't know, having been a toddler when he died, but his father's eyes used to be just as nebulous as his own, intelligence mixing with caution and anxiety, but gleaming with a determination that reeked of magic to those that knew what to look for.

“What?!”

“Patton. He… the locks are old, and we both know how suspicious it'd look if we had someone come to make them stronger. If we're both gone, three nights in a row… he'll flee.”

“And come across the Royal Guard, one way or another. If not some nobles,” Dorian finished. Virgil nodded, carefully keeping himself calm.

“Exactly. And we both know what they're like. It wouldn't even matter that you're the named heir,  all they'd care about is blood. And if they find out I'm a mage too…”

Dorian blanched at the sole thought. He'd be ruined. “What do you propose?”

“We can simply take him with us-"

“What?! Are you crazy?!-”

“No, no, I got a plan, just listen to me-”

“Listen to-” Dorian took a deep breath. “Okay. Explain yourself. And do it quick.”

Virgil gulped before answering. “So, if-if we take Pat… _Patton_ with us, I'll always be there, meaning that if he talks with anyone, or… you know, steps out of line, I'll make them forget it. No one is gonna recognize him, he hasn't been to court for eight years and he was pretty much still a child back then, and if you still worry, I'm gonna put a glamour on him. He's gonna be grateful and that can always come in handy for you- Like mother said, any ally can become essential in the right circumstances, right? I'll look after him all evening if you want, to ensure that he won't make a fool of you. It's a- it's a calculated risk, Dori. And it's gonna work.”

Dorian only wanted his one true confidant back. And possibly an engagement ring with a diamond on it. “I'll trust you, Virgil. But know that you'll be the one staying in an oubliette for the remainder of your life if this backfires.”

“Yes- Yes, I know. Thank you so much.”

“You're welcome,” Dorian smiled, glad to have his brother back. “He'll have to get his clothes himself though, and I'll call Petunia to get you a nice new set.”

“Okay. Thanks, again.”

Dorian only hummed in affirmation, focussing on his papers again. He seemed distinctly happier than before. Virgil swallowed his guilt as he went back to give Patton the good news, letting the relief floof through him, easing the muscles that had been coiled, ready to run every second, during the entire conversation.

~

“That's- Virgil, you- I can't- thank you!” Patton cried, hugging Virgil so tightly it hurt. The younger couldn't help grinning at the other’s gleeful chattering. He managed to almost entirely ignore how he hadn't told Pat everything. Patton was already planning how to get his frock-coat and what he'd do at the ball and _thank you so much Virgil, you're the bestest, most amazing little genius._ The younger almost mentioned that he was looming over Patton with about 20cm by now, but thought better of it. Besides, he felt the truth press against his lips, felt how it yearned to be heard, felt how it trapped him in a solitary net of guilt. Silence was easier. Silence made sure Patton wouldn't find out about what he'd do to Prince Roman.

Virgil let himself be dragged to the room they'd shared for seven years now, as Patton opened the chest that had stayed closed for all those years. He'd never asked and Patton had never talked. It creaked when the lid rose up and both men coughed at the dust that rose up.

“What the hell’s in there?” Virgil grumbled, still coughing while Patton seemed to recover eerily fast.

“It's just… all the stuff I took from my old room. You know, from before dad... I took one of his frock-coats, because it… he'd wear it so often when he came back from court, because Mother liked it so much…and I think, with some changes, it'd fit me alright. I'm a bit taller than he, I think, but it should work more or less.” Excitement wove itself into Patton’s voice. “I could take one of Dorian’s old doublets, there's this really plain one, but it's a nice, light blue, and if I have enough time to embroider it, it should look pretty good… I remember this gorgeous golden thread he bought forever ago to fix one of his jackets, that should work wonders, and…”

Virgil startled when Patton stopped rummaging through the chest, stopped excitedly rambling, caught up in his happiness for the first time in too long, the sudden silence weighing down on them, heavy as a millstone.

“She read to me,” he murmured. “All kinds of stories. She always made voices and explained all the stuff I didn't get at first. When she brought me with her the first time… it was like she knew everything.” A wistful smile. “I couldn't even replant a geranium without help at first.” He looked down at the old book as if it held all the answers. “She… she gave this to me after my first flower bed bloomed, I was so proud,” he murmured, looking at the yellowed pages, filled with old paintings he used to fawn over, next to it writing he'd learnt by heart, describing every plant's unique properties and usages. He especially loved the myths attached to some of them, had adored to tell his Mother whenever he read a new one that fascinated him like nothing ever had before. She'd acted as if he told her of the greatest new discoveries, grinning and laughing with him, both their hands dirty with soil, grime embedded under their fingernails and in their nail beds.

He startled when his shoulder was touched. He met Virgil’s worried gaze. The younger one sat down next to him, offering a hesitant little smile.

“She sounds pretty amazing,” he murmured. Patton lit up, still absently flipping through old pages. It was easy to start talking about her, and Virgil managed to make it less difficult when the words started to choke him.

He didn't even notice he was crying until his tears were staining his book, but it was impossible to stop.

It was easy to tuck himself against Virgil, to let the other hug him in a protective embrace. It felt like family, like he was safe.

Maybe he did deserve to go to the ball after all. Maybe he could be happy, just happy, not worried or stressed or tired, for just a few evenings. Maybe everything would get better, for both of them.

~

The next weeks almost made him regret that thought. In preparation to the ball Dorian had bought half a wardrobe worth of new clothes, being more than willing to remind Patton to be _careful, dimwit, those pieces are worth more than your services, and if you screw this up, I will_ not _hesitate to throw you out_ , apparently seeing his allowing Patton to go to the ball as enough of a reason to be even stricter than usual. The boys he'd chosen to wait on him and care for his horses for the evenings also came along more and more often, to be fit for their uniforms, to be lectured on etiquette and posture and who knows what else. Patton wouldn't mind, if they weren't leaving a mess everywhere they went, not even hiding their glee when it was wrongly attributed to Patton’s laziness if he was too slow cleaning it up, letting Dorian see, giving the older man a prime outlet for his steadily growing frustrations.

But Patton was optimistic. The horses were wonderful, even if he had almost no time to spend with them. The seamstress- Petunia- was kind and witty. She gave him patterns to embroider on his doublet, some tips to fix his father's frock-coat and both a pair of trousers and a shirt for under his doublet, both only needing minor changes, in return for sewing together a good portion of her pieces and even embroidering some simple patterns on the pieces that were ordered by those not belonging to nobility.

Virgil tried to help him, but Dorian had begun to request his presence again, giving him one of the previously empty rooms and taking him with him when visiting some of his acquaintances, meaning that some of the chores that used to be Virgil’s became his again, no matter how hard Virgil tried to do them still. Dorian demanded his time, and he was in no position to argue. They both had bags under their eyes that were impossible to hide and Patton didn't remember when he'd last had a chance to just _talk_ with Virgil for even a minute.

But he was happy! Also tired and frustrated and stressed out of his mind- but mainly happy! He would get to go to the ball, thanks to Virgil making up with Dorian, and he'd get to talk with all kinds of people, he'd get to see the gardens, maybe even dance! He hadn't danced in years, but he used to love it when he was young.

He'd dreamt of going to balls then. Of charming everyone and dancing the night away, lost in the exhilaration a dance with the right person could bring, if he believed the stories his dad had told him.

He'd imagined to be asked to dance by someone no one knew, a mysterious stranger with an easy smile and laughing eyes. He'd imagined how he'd say yes, how he'd be swept off his feet, how he'd laugh and giggle with the stranger, how they'd steal his breath when they dipped him, kissing him with an adorable grin.  

He knew that he would never find love at the ball, but part of him wanted to forget. Wanted to dream up a great romance and find it, find the one he was meant to be with, even if it sounded impossible.

~

_“-the festivities for your return shall be held the evening after you've joined our circles again, now as men instead of children. Thomas is anticipating you even more than I, he is incessantly talking about your imminent arrival. With your brother being unable to contain his elation, already rejoicing when only thinking of your arrival, I can only imagine your own anticipation regarding your return. Thomas has even seen to arranging the feasts to your honour, in the hopes that you'll find love in your future spouse as so many before you have, and so many after you will. Love, Miranda,”_ Logan finished reading, looking at his brother.

“Wow, she pushed Thomas on all the ball planning? That's evil, even for her,” Roman noted, concealing his worry with amusement. Logan didn't particularly care for his brother's attempts at subtlety, and the pounding in his skull relieved him of the last of his patience.

“She wouldn't have given him such a task if she didn't trust him to achieve it. This is a grand event, not even she would want to ruin it for some lesson,” he muttered, looking over the letter. “She focused on the wedding aspect more than I anticipated.”

“I bet that Thomas tried to make her drop it.”

“Huh? How do you mean, exactly?”

“You know, make it an actual party to welcome us back home instead of being a quickfire way of marrying us off.”

“That would explain why she attached the list of our options directly, instead of giving it to us before the ball, like she did with Thomas,” Logan contemplated.

“What, really?! Show me! I never got the chance to see Thomas’s, and I wanna compare our options!”

“Please, Roman, don't shout,” Logan winced, massaging his temple in hope of curing his head ache.

The addressed Prince looked up from the paper he'd already snatched out of Logan's fingers, grimacing in pity. “You really didn't go out at _all,_ before, did you?”

“Why would I? It's irrational and only causes pain in the long run.” Logan's voice was softer than usual, and the Prince massaged his temple with his fingers in a attempt to sooth the raging pain pounding against his skull. Why had he let Roman talk him into joining that ridiculous drinking bout?

“So Terrence’s home remedy didn't work?”

“What do you think?”

Roman pouted at the scathing tone. “Hey, no need to be so bloody rude…  at least you got Jon?”

“Cozart?”

And affirmative hum.

“Hah, told you I'd get him,” the older twin grinned, in decidedly less pain, it seemed. Roman rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, you're insufferable… HAH!- sorry Lo! But I got _Dodie!_ You know, Dodie Clark? I mean, I'm not going to choose her, but she thinks I'm worthy of _Dodie Clark!”_

“You're surprised? She's always had a soft spot for you. Heaven knows why…” Roman ignored Logan's long-suffering sigh.

“You're just mad you didn't get anyone as awesome as Dodie.”

“I am _not_. Besides, this whole affair is just-”

“Logan, _please_. You don't need to remind me,” Roman interrupted, his grin strained, uncharacteristically tight as he tried to keep the smile on his face.

He still remembered when Thomas explained to him that, if he became a Prince, if he let their Dad adopt him, he'd never really get to choose who he would marry. Of course, it wasn't an arranged marriage, not really, but… Miranda didn't approve of any of the returning heirs even talking too long to those she hadn't declared to be acceptable. He'd been so confused back then, not understanding the obligations the Crown brought with it. But with the years, the _list_ had become something he'd feared, something that..

“I'm sorry,” Logan murmured.

“It's not your fault.”

“I was the one who followed you.”

“Lo, don't be dense, it doesn't fit you,” Roman scoffed, “besides, I love being a Prince! Beats being a street rat right out of the park,” his grin was as princely as it could be. Logan flinched at the term, remembering guards he'd believed to be kind and just looking down on someone who had only been a friend then.

“Don't call yourself that.” Roman softened, if only a bit.

“Hey, it's okay, specs. It's all in the past, right? Deep breaths.” Logan obeyed, already regretting bringing the issue of their choice of partners up. He should've known that Roman knew, was painfully aware.

Roman talked about one of the new recruits he was tasked with training. It was an honour, especially when taking his young age into account. The enby sounded like good company too, they were apparently from a relatively big family and a quick learner. It was easy for Logan to get lost in Roman’s tellings.

The lists were still there, but went ignored for now.

~

Patton sat bent over his work, vision blurring as he pricked his finger for the sixth time that evening alone. He cursed silently as he blinked, before continuing. The first day of the ball was only a week away, and he still had to finish the embroidery on his doublet, finish up some of the sewing for the seamstress- he'd forgotten her name, and tried not to feel guilty- and she'd come in… three days was it! In three days she'd come for the last time and by then he had to be finished, and the dishes were beginning to pile up the ceiling. Maybe he should just stay up tonight, the three hours of sleep he'd still get weren't worth the work he wouldn't get done, and if he pulled through now, he could sleep later and it’d be fine, he was sure.

He missed another stitch, cursing silently. The candle next to him flickered. It was so short, he'd have to get a new one soon.

He stood up after he almost drew blood this time, swallowing his fear as he got some of the coffee and brew a cup, painfully aware of how expensive it was. He'd spilled the powder once. Hadn't been fast enough. Had let Dorian see. The memory still made him fold in on himself. It'd never happened again.

But the smell let him perk up, drinking half the cup before sitting down again, focusing on his embroidery. His eyes burned, but he carried on.

~

Dorian hadn't expected any guests and was, to that effect, annoyed when he heard someone knock, the sound quite audible from the sitting room he and Virgil were currently occupying. He murmured an apology to Virgil as he straightened up and gestured for his brother to get it. The only thing he heard was chatter, he didn't recognize the voice directly, but it was familiar.

He pinched his lips in thought, going through all the young, chipper women- oh dear god. He sent a quick prayer, because if it was _her_ , he was done for.

“Dorian! Haven't seen you in a while.” Lady Valerie was smiling, but her eyes were cold as ice.

“Yes, well, with the balls so quickly approaching one finds time for nothing, it seems,” he tried to evade, standing up and kissing her hand, as was befitting of a gentleman. He ignored the gloves the Dame had chosen to wear, despite fall still being a few weeks away.

“Yes, but you still owe me, Dorian. And I'm only coming here instead of sending a debt collector because your step-father was a good man, so don't take my kindness for granted.” The younger noble winced. He knew that he hadn't been as courteous as he should've been, and with his mind being only on the ball, something had been bound to be left behind.

“Of course, I can only apologize… I don't deserve your kindness, Lady Valerie.” Her resolve softened as she looked at the young man in front of her.

“Well, all's well that ends well. Just give me the money you owe me, and I'll be on my way.”

“No, please- I never wanted to chase you away… I couldn't forgive myself if I made you come all the way out here without even having offered a cup of tea. Virgil, please? And tell the houseboy to get the money, it should be in an envelope in my office- I intended to give it to you, Lady Valerie, I promise.”

“I only hope you'll actually send it the next time,” Valerie teased, sitting down across from Dorian. Virgil heard her strike up the conversation as he headed to the kitchen, wincing as he saw Patton, in front of a wall of dirty dishes.

At least he'd get Patton a small reprieve from that heap of nightmares.

~

Usually he wasn't even allowed in the office while Dorian was in it, it was a testament to how much he wanted to keep his good relationship with Valerie that he let him in here. Looking around, Patton winced at the chaos. The office was the only place Dorian kept clean himself, but it seemed there wasn't even time for that anymore. Patton looked through the papers scattered over the desk, if he remembered correctly the money should be in an envelope, the Sanders sigil pressed onto it with yellow wax, the name of the recipient written under it with fountain pen. Patton remembered when his father had let him stamp closed their letters, the wax a light blue that had been used for generations, if his father was to be believed. But it wasn't important.

There was no envelope on the desk, so he took a breath to collect his courage, looking over his shoulder to check that Dorian was still downstairs, even though he knew it by the silent chattering, which never seemed to cease, feeling slightly silly.  

He stooped in front of the left side, opening the first drawer, looking through it- nothing. Nothing in the second either. The third was full of pain medication Dorian denied he still took and didn't need anymore. Fourth was only business papers, but nothing- maybe…. no, not there either. He opted to open the last drawer, as Dorian’s laugh sounded through the manor. For a second, he was frozen, his only movement the trembling of his hand.

He tried to gulp down his fears, as he opened the drawer, scolding himself. He wasn't doing anything wrong, there was nothing Dorian could accuse him of. The fifth drawer was filled with contracts and other business papers as well, but he still carded through it.

_Huh_.

He didn't know why the document had caught his attention. But it had. He gulped as he recognized his father's signature, blinked away tears as he realized that he held his father’s will in his hands.

He'd never read it, trusting Dorian to tell him the truth. Being too weak to read the words his father had used as he replaced him. Not that Patton could hold it against him, really.

He looked over the words now, part of him hoping for a reason, an explanation, anything, but there was only the simple, uncomplicated writing of the will, and-

His father had never written simply, or in short sentences, or without cramming as many accessory sentences onto the paper as he could. He had never used one short, precise word if there were three with four syllables each instead.

But why would his father's will be so short, so cut and dry? Did he want to avoid the thoughts of his death, to keep his will short and kind due to some commitment to Patton, or was there something else?

But that didn't make sense, his father… he'd started involving Patton more and more before his death, showing him how to rule their county, while Dorian did something else. Why would he ever bother with Patton if he'd already found his replacement? Why would he keep his testament so short and succinct, more like…. Why had Dorian kept him from all noble eyes as soon as his father died? Why had he turned him into a servant even if he still had noble blood? Why had he been so fast to build a name for himself, to destroy any doubts regarding his title? As if hiding something...

Patton’s hands shook.

This couldn't- why-

“Patton! I need the money!” he heard Virgil hiss. 

Patton jumped, closing the drawer. The odd testament still inside. 

Silence. 

His heart was beating too fast. It interrupted the almost serene stillness that suddenly filled the room.

The envelope laid on one of the book shelves. He grabbed it before running out of the room. 

He tried to attribute the strangeness of the will to his imagination. There could be no other way. Dorian was the Lord of the Sanders estate, had been named so by his father, right?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, guess who finally finished a chapter on time! This gal!  
> I'll look over this chapter again in the morning, let's hope there aren't too many mistakes still in there. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, reviews are gold <3


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